


Incrocio

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-19
Updated: 2009-10-19
Packaged: 2019-05-30 17:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Donna embarks on an unexpected journey, taking her completely away from politics and an ocean away from Josh.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: We go from "2162 Votes" to AU in mere seconds.  
Author's Notes: I've been working on this alternate universe story since early June. It's gone through ten kinds of revisions and the careful scrutiny of my two betas, Jo March and Ro. In fact, Jo is in the middle of writing a companion piece, so be on the lookout. This story wouldn't be half of what it is without both of these amazing women.  


* * *

***  
When I was in fourth grade, I lost the 50-meter backstroke against our rival swim team. Everyone thought I'd win simply because of my long, lanky body. "Just reach as far back as you can," they'd said. Despite my reach, I came in third place. I gave up swimming that summer. In eighth grade, I didn't get the role of Dorothy in our school's production of "The Wizard of Oz." Nor did I land the role of Auntie Em, Glinda or the Wicked Witch of the West. I was too tall to play a munchkin, so they cast me as a tree. I was one of only four students who didn't have a singing role. I vowed never to be in a musical again. Perhaps my worst loss of all was as a senior in high school. I ran for class vice-president against the student voted "most likely to drink his way through college." I think he was even drunk on Election Day. It was a close call, but Drunk Denny won. This time, I didn't quit. In fact, I became more interested in political candidates and elections. 

 

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd play a part in three national presidential campaigns. Winning two elections in a row with President Bartlet increased my confidence. Surely, I thought, Bob Russell would make it three. Boy, was I wrong.

As I sit in this freezing cold room, I wonder how four televisions, two Russell volunteers, and Will Bailey aren't enough to keep my attention. It's probably because wallowing in self pity drowns out everything around me. I'm enjoying counting my losses. I revert back to my old pattern of thinking. Maybe it's time to quit politics altogether. If I can't get the Democratic favorite elected President, I must be doing something wrong. 

I blink a few times, trying to concentrate on the present. All of the televisions are tuned to the Democratic National Convention. The angles are different, and the reporters each have their own flair, but the two men on stage are the same. Congressman Santos and Leo are standing with their hands joined, looking, well, presidential. Seeing the huge smile on Leo's face and the gleam in his eye gets me a little choked up. It's kind of like hearing Josh Groban sing the national anthem.

However, the thing, the person actually, who has captured my attention is sitting silently next to me with his feet propped on the makeshift desk. He looks exhausted, but his eyes are sparkling. 

I expected him to gloat. I thought he'd strut in here with something similar to his "victory is mine; victory is mine" speech. He'd bring out the dimples, and his swagger would be downright nauseating. Instead, he's quiet. His eyes are glued to CNN. I take this opportunity to glance at him. Ok, stare.

I'd forgotten what staring at Josh Lyman does to me. I unconsciously lick my lips.

This is the first time in months I've really been able to study Josh. Besides the obvious exhaustion, he looks calm. There's a fine line between calmness and peace. Maybe it's the set of his jaw or his tense shoulders, but Josh doesn't seem peaceful. I'll categorize it as calm anticipation, despite the oxymoron.

The few times I bumped into Josh while campaigning, it looked like he'd lost weight. My guess is he's dropped about 30 pounds. He looks borderline unhealthy. It makes me feel guilty for leaving him. Getting Josh to eat right wasn't easy. I'd like to think I was mostly successful at convincing him to sleep more than four hours a night as well. Josh's health was more my priority than his for nine years.

As I'm about to make a mental comment on Josh's short hair, he looks at me. He just caught me staring with my mouth hanging slightly open. I quickly turn my attention to the TV in front of me and take a swig of beer. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him. He stares at me for a few seconds, blinking a couple of times, then turns his head toward Will.

Will stands. "This is it for me." He throws his second beer bottle into the trash can and misses. The glass shatters everywhere, startling the two Russell volunteers. They leave.

"Go figure," he says, staring at the broken glass. 

"You did well." Josh stands next to him.

"This coming from the man who just got a virtually unknown Latino elected as the Democratic nominee."

Josh bites his bottom lip. "Russell wasn't presidential material, and you know it."

Will glances at me. "Good night." He turns to walk away, but Josh stops him.

"I've got a place for you, Will."

I watch the two men face off as if this is some Western movie.

"Do you?" Will puts his hands on his hips.

"I do." Josh does the same. "You've got my number. If I don't hear from you within the next 24 hours, I'll assume you backed the wrong guy again."

"You know what they say about assumptions."

Josh grins. "Yeah."

Will turns to me. "Thanks for everything, Donna."

I give him a small smile.

Once Will is gone, Josh sits next to me, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You should find Congressman Santos," I suggest.

He chuckles.

"You find humor in that?" I lean forward.

"I'm too tired to find humor in anything." 

I sigh. "I'm unemployed."

"Just walk out that door and wait 15 minutes," he says.

"No, I mean I'm unemployed!" I smile widely and raise my arms in the air.

"If only the other 20 million unemployed were as exuberant."

"You're not offering me a job?" I ask, shifting in my seat.

He raises his eyebrows. "No."

"Really?" 

"Really." Josh is flashing me grin number 16: the cocky, double-dimpled grin. 

My shoulders drop. "So I'm really unemployed?"

"Looks like it." He stands and throws his empty beer bottle in the trash. "One more?"

"You're offering me beer, not a job?"

"You wouldn't take it." He steals my bottle and tilts it to the side. There's only a sip left. He gulps the liquid, then puts my bottle in the trash.

"I might," I reply, folding my arms.

He walks toward the door.

I swivel in my chair. "Where are you going?"

"Beer." With that, he disappears.

This leaves me alone, wondering if Josh is right. Would I work for Congressman Santos? Do I want to work more than sleep? I've been through this cycle once before, only I was nine years younger. I was passionate about Jed Bartlet. Santos seems like a decent man with his heart in the right place, but he is not The Second Coming. He does, however, have fresh ideas and an energetic spirit. Josh believes he's the real thing, and I've never known him to be mistaken about political genius. But do I want to follow Josh again? Do I want to ride on his coattails after all I've done on my own over the past few months? I'm "Donna Moss, political operative" now, not "Donna Moss, senior assistant to Josh Lyman." That feels remarkably good.

He walks back into the room with two beers. "You told me."

"I've told you many things, Josh. Did you actually listen to something I said?" I take a beer from him.

He sits next to me. "After we got President Bartlet elected the first time, you told me you didn't know if you could do this again. That no other man could make you work 16-hour days, and during the fifteenth hour, leave you hoping someone would stay up with you to talk more."

I smile and lower my head. "You always did."

"Did what?" Josh takes a sip of beer. 

"Stayed awake with me." I brush my hair behind my ear. "The night he won, I remember looking around the room at one point and everyone else was gone."

Josh smiles. "A housekeeper came in at God knows what time, asking us to go to our rooms."

"You told her you'd just gotten a man elected president, and you'd pay for the banquet room if she'd let you and your friends stay to celebrate."

"I remember the lady looking around the empty room, asking, 'What friends'?" He laughs.

"You were different back then," I say.

He runs a hand through his hair. "I was a helluva lot younger, that's for sure."

"It was more than that. You wouldn't shut up about the things we had to do. You made me take pages and pages of notes." I look at the label on my bottle. "I liked watching you."

"Watching me?"

"The way you'd pace with your shoulders back and your jaw set. You'd gesticulate wildly, and your voice would get really high. Sometimes you'd bounce on the balls of your feet." I smile.

"I'm sure I was a sight to see," he says, rubbing his eyes.

I shrug. "I liked you like that."

Josh stares at me for a long moment, making me look away. 

"You provoked me," he says. "You always wanted to know why."

"I was curious," I answer.

"You used to wear those little barrettes in your hair." He wiggles his fingers near his head.

"You remember how I wore my hair?" I blush.

"It made you look so young." Josh puts his elbows on his knees and rubs the beer bottle between his palms. "I liked watching you too. The way you'd tilt your head when you wrote; how you'd look me in the eyes when I was serious and joke with me when I wasn't. The way you'd smile when you thought you'd won an argument."

"I won plenty of arguments," I reply.

Josh rolls his chair a little closer. "I won more."

"It's the cockiness I miss the least." I sigh and put my bottle on the table.

"What do you miss the most?" He raises his eyebrows.

I think about the question for a second. "Moments like this – talking, laughing, drinking beer." I take a deep breath. "We haven't done this in a long time."

He nods.

"I don't like being on opposite sides, Josh."

He puts his beer next to mine. "Neither do I."

"Part of me wishes this was still the first campaign." I lower my head.

"I don't want to go back," he says. "Don't get me wrong, I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat, but I'm glad we're here."

"Here meaning in this room, or here meaning at this point in our lives?"

He shrugs. "Both."

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

"Why didn't you celebrate with the Santos staff tonight?" I ask.

He hesitates. "Because I wanted to be with you."

This man lives for political victory. He's an in-your-face kind of guy, yet he wants to be with me. I'm puzzled.

"I miss this too, Donna," he says, looking in my eyes. "The talking, laughing and sharing beer. I miss turning around in a crowd and seeing your face. I miss knowing you were ten feet away if I needed anything. I miss your bizarre knowledge and your indecipherable penmanship." He clenches his jaw. "But most of all, I miss just being friends."

I can feel my cheeks heat up. "Distinguished penmanship." I grin and don't divert my eyes. It's probably the boldest statement I've made up to this point – not looking away.

Josh takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. A wave of electricity shoots through my body.

"My friendship has never gone away," I whisper.

He lowers my hand but continues rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "Yeah, but you did."

This conversation was inevitable. I've thought about my response more nights than I'd like to admit. I squeeze his hand. "I didn't leave you, Josh. I left the position; the office. I needed to be on my own. To discover if I was worth anything away from you."

"Worth anything?" He raises his eyebrows. "Donna, you can't put a value or a number on what you're worth."

"What I'm worth to you," I correct him.

"To anyone!" His voice gets high. "I've never worked with a more capable person. You could run circles around Bob Russell and Will Bailey. You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I had to get out there and see for myself. I was trapped working for you." I tuck my hair behind my ear.

"You felt trapped?" His eyes grow dark. It seems like he thinks he made me do something against my will.

"That's not what I meant." I take a deep breath. "Maybe it is what I meant. I couldn't move forward when I was with you. There was nowhere to go from there – professionally or personally. So I left."

"Personally?" he asks.

"Not that there was anything, you know, personal going on." I quickly add.

"Did you want something personal?" he asks in a shaky voice.

I lower my head and give him my best don't-be-ridiculous tone. "Josh."

"Seriously, Donna." He resumes rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

I look up at him again.

He grins. "If you did, I wouldn't have stopped you."

"You've always had such a way with women," I tease, trying to get away from the intimidating subject.

He looks in my eyes. "I wasn't concerned with other women."

I blink a few times before looking away. I feel Josh's fingers slowly move up my forearm. It gives me chills.

"There were many women, Josh."

"None like you." He swallows hard.

"Then why didn't you do anything about it?" I'm surprised at my bluntness.

"I couldn't," he says. "Neither of us could."

I look at Josh's hand resting on the bend of my elbow.

"Did you...you know."

"Did I what?" He smiles.

I shrug, trying to act casual. "Did you think about me?"

"I did."

I look at him. "In what way?"

"In many ways." He traces patterns on my palm.

I gulp. "In a personal way?"

Josh nods. "Yeah."

I start moving my fingertips lightly over his wrist. "How personal?"

He grins, but there's a hint of shyness on his face. "Very personal."

I blush. This is strange territory. In all the years I've known Josh, we've never discussed our innermost thoughts. My heart is beating so rapidly I feel the charm on my necklace bouncing against my skin.

"When?" I ask.

"Often." His fingers skirt up my shirt sleeve.

"How often?"

He brings my left hand to his lips again. "Constantly wouldn't be a stretch."

"And now?" I ask in a whisper.

He kisses my wrist, then looks at me with a smirk. "If you have to ask what I'm thinking now, Donna, I'm doing something wrong."

I lean forward just enough for Josh to press his lips against mine. He lets go of my hand and cups my cheek. Before long, our tongues are swirling together. All I can think of is this man wants me; has wanted me for quite some time. He pulls my head closer, although we're already impossibly close. His lips surround my mouth, then he pulls away and allows me to lead. We develop a rhythm, tugging at each other's bottom lips. He tastes like beer, but there's something sweet on his tongue, like he ate watermelon candy not long ago. I don't want to stop kissing him.

"Excuse me?" A female voice says from the doorway.

Josh and I turn toward the woman. His hand is close to my breast.

"I have to clean now." She raises a mop.

"Right," Josh says. "How fitting." 

He stands and offers me a hand. A smile crawls across my face. I watch his lips quirk up. 

I stand in front of him, our chests nearly touching in this small space. "What time is it?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I don't really care." He traces the line of my shirt against my chest.

"We should leave," I say.

He leans in, capturing my lower lip with his mouth. I pull him toward the door. We devour each other in the elevator. When the doors open on the sixth floor, we exit. Josh straightens his tie with his left hand while holding my right.

"What's the room number?" he asks, clearing his throat.

I stop. "I'm not on this floor."

"Then why are we here?"

"I thought you were on the sixth floor. You pressed the button!" I laugh.

Josh grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairwell. There's something intriguing about the gray walls and steel banisters that makes me stop on the platform between floors. I kiss him.

He runs his hands through my hair. "Being unemployed agrees with you."

"It's liberating, Joshua."

We finally make it to room 705, but we don't make it to the bed. At least not the first time.

*

Lying on the beach in Maui, looking at Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower or touring the pyramids of Egypt have nothing on sleeping next to Josh Lyman. His right arm is under my pillow, and his left arm is slung over my stomach. He's breathing deeply through a half-opened mouth. Josh's hair looks no different than it does on a typical day, which makes me wonder if he even brushes it in the morning.

I trace the lines of his arm, watching my finger rise and fall over his bicep. This causes Josh to stir, but it doesn't wake him. I reflect on our first night together, wondering which of the three times I enjoyed the most. As I recall the vivid details of each one, my phone nearly vibrates off the nightstand.

I flip the phone open and see my parents' number staring back at me. "Dad?"

"It's your mother."

"Mom, what's wrong?" I whisper, sitting up a bit.

Josh opens his eyes.

"Your grandmother passed away."

It takes me a second to comprehend her statement. My paternal grandmother, the only one I really knew, died in 1987.

"Nonna?" I ask.

Josh squeezes me and slowly sits up. His arm is still slung across my midsection.

"Her friend Maria just called. Nonna died of cancer two days ago." Her voice is low, but it doesn't sound terribly sad.

"That's awful. I'm so sorry, Mom." I raise my hand to my heart. "When are you and Dad leaving for the funeral?"

There's a long pause. "Did you keep in touch with Nonna?"

I shrug. "Nothing more than a few birthday cards. Maybe a letter or two when I first moved to the East Coast. Why?"

Josh wipes the sleep from his eyes, then props himself on his elbow.

"Well," she sighs in what seems like frustration. "My mother left everything to you."

I can't speak. My throat is dry, and my hands begin to sweat. I try processing this information, but my head feels like a pinwheel, spinning around and around. 

Josh touches my wrist. I focus on him for a moment, blinking the fuzziness away.

"Donna?"

"Wha...Why? I don't understand." It doesn't surprise me that I'm inarticulate. Last night, I slept with the man I've loved for the better part of nine years; this morning, I find out my grandmother passed away and left me everything.

"I was hoping you could tell me," my mom says.

I sit further up in the bed, taking Josh's hand in mine. "I don't know, Mom."

She sighs again. "We're not going to Italy. The funeral is tomorrow evening. I checked airfare, and it's over $4,000. We just don't have that kind of money lying around."

I want to yell "she's your mother!" But I don't. It would only make matters worse.

"I'm going," I declare. "I'm going to Nonna's funeral. Someone from our family should be there."

Josh looks confused. He sits up, and for the first time since about 10 o'clock last night, he doesn't touch me.

"Since you're getting everything, Donna, I think that's a fine idea. But don't be surprised if everything is actually nothing."

My heart plummets. "Do you have an address or a phone number?"

"Maria Riotto was the woman's name. Her phone number is 39-057-213455. She gave me this address: Via Porto Rossa 125, Marlia, Tuscany, 0583/919931."

I scribble the information on the back of my Democratic National Convention badge. "Ok."

"Be careful, Donna."

"Goodbye, Mom." I hang up and stare straight ahead.

"You ok?" Josh asks, rubbing my arm.

I shake my head. "I didn't know her at all. I think I remember meeting her when I was a child, but that was so long ago."

"What happened?"

I face Josh. "When I was four, my grandfather had an affair. My grandmother, Nonna, left him. I was too young to understand. I just remember my mom always bad-mouthing her." I lower my head. "My grandfather died shortly after Nonna left. My mom said she'd never forgive Nonna for leaving her father. She said it was Nonna's fault."

Josh pulls me toward him.

"I grew up disliking her, even though I didn't know the full story." I sigh into his neck. "She sent me a few birthday cards, but I threw them away. She sent a letter just after President Bartlet was elected. Said she was proud of me."

Josh lifts my chin. "How'd she know?"

I shrug. "My mom hasn't talked to her in 25 years; since she moved to Italy."

He kisses my forehead. "You're going to the funeral?"

I nod and squeeze Josh's arm before crawling out of bed. "She left me everything, Josh. I don't know what that entails, but I should at least attend her funeral."

"In Italy?" he asks, crossing his legs and leaning forward.

I look at the back of my badge and say the address out loud.

Josh scratches his head. "I've never heard of Marlia."

"You've barely heard of Italy," I say. It's the first time I've smiled since before the phone call.

He smiles back at me. "I guess that means this is on hold?" He moves a hand between us.

"I'll be gone a week tops," I say, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. 

"A week's a long time," he replies.

"It's better than nine years." I smile one last time before going into the bathroom to shower. "Josh? Can you call Alitalia? I need to leave as soon as possible."

"Have the roles reversed here?" I hear him yell over the running water.

"At least you have a job," I yell back. I picture him grinning.

I take a longer shower than I probably should, but I have a lot to think about. My relationship with Josh has shifted completely. Making love to him, while it was mind-blowing, felt like an extension of what we already are to each other. He touched my lower back and ran his fingertips along my spine. When his hand reached my neck, he massaged it, then used both hands to rake through my hair. He talked about political strategies on two occasions. I asked him to stop, then I realized Josh's obsession with politics is one of the things I love about him. So we discussed farm subsidies between our second and third time. This feels like an easy role to step into, like it's where I'm supposed to be.

I hear a knock on the bathroom door. "The Congressman just called. I have to go."

I poke my head out of the shower and see Josh putting on his tie. "Did you call the airline?"

He looks at my reflection in the mirror and smiles. "I got you to Rome. The woman said you'll have to take a commuter flight to Pisa, then a bus to Marlia. The information is on the dresser. You have to transfer in Atlanta, but don't blame me." He walks toward me.

"Thanks."

"Last night was..." Josh looks a bit shy.

I smile. "What was last night, Josh?"

He gives me a full-fledged, dimpled smile and raises his eyebrows. "Off the charts."

I blush. Josh kisses my nose, then my cheek, then my lips. I want to pull him in the shower with me.

"I have to go," he says between kisses. "I'll see you in a week."

"A week," I sigh.

He backs away, but not before I adjust his tie. "You have a job when you come back, Donna."

"I know." I smile. 

***  
I arrive at the San Diego Airport with my purse and a suitcase containing four professional outfits and a pair of jeans. I'm the last one in line to check in for my 10 a.m. flight on Alitalia when it hits me: I'm traveling to a foreign country by myself. Driving from Madison to Manchester was one thing, but this is another matter entirely.

"Buongiorno, signorina. Come si chiama?" The woman behind the counter asks.

I stare at her with what I'm sure is a blank expression.

"Let me guess: you don't speak Italian?" she asks as she types on her computer.

I realize I'm about to face a major problem: I don't speak Italian. Not a word of it. Well, there's buongiorno, ciao, si and vino. I know those words. Not that they'll get me through a week in rural Italy.

"I'm sorry," I respond.

"May I see your passport?"

I fish inside my big black purse, trying to locate my passport. It's been in here since my trip to Gaza. Come to think of it, that's the last time I left the country. I tense up. I decide to make it a point to travel internationally for pleasure within the next year.

I hand her my passport. "My name is Donna Moss."

"I have a 'Moss'," the woman says, scrolling down a list of passengers, "but there's no 'Donna'."

"Someone else made the reservation for me. My name is Donnatella, but I go by Donna." I shrug. "It's much easier that way."

The woman looks at my passport. "You won't be the only Donnatella in Italy." She smiles.

"That's somewhat comforting," I say.

"Looks like you're booked with us to Rome with a stop in Atlanta. There's also a note here saying you need to get to Marlia."

I adjust the purse strap on my arm. "That's right."

She hands me the passport, then resumes typing. "I can get you from Rome to Pisa. It's about a two-hour flight. From there, you can take a bus or train to Marlia." She starts writing on the back of my ticket jacket. "Here's a number that might help." 

I take it from her and smile. "Thank you so much."

"Grazie," she says. "'Grazie' means 'thank you' in Italian."

"Right." I tuck my hair behind my ear, then root in my purse for a credit card. I hope I have enough credit to cover the airfare. "How much do I owe?"

The woman looks at her screen again. "It's paid for, Ms. Moss."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

She creases her brow and examines the screen more closely. "You don't owe us anything."

Josh. I bite my lower lip. Josh paid for my plane ticket, which, it turns out, is a first-class ticket to Rome on a Boeing 747. Of course, he'd complain about the stop in Atlanta, but I'm ok with that. The only other time I flew first-class was when I got bumped on a flight from Houston to St. Louis. All the comforts of first-class were wasted on a flight that lasted just over an hour.

"Thank-" I stop myself. "Grazie."

The woman smiles back at me. "Have a good flight."

I check my watch and run to the nearest shop to buy an Italian pocket dictionary. Because the San Diego airport is small with few accoutrements, there is only one book with the word 'Italy' on it. It's called "Fodor's Italy 2005." I pay far too much for it, then make my way toward gate 21.

Once I'm comfortably seated on the plane, I call Josh.

"I shouldn't be answering my phone right now," he whispers. "Excuse me." I hear him say, presumably to someone else in the room.

"Important meeting?" I ask.

"You could say that." His voice gets louder. "Just three of the most powerful men in the country. Four if you count me."

I can almost see him grinning.

"Josh, you didn't have to do this." I play with the coil leading to my personal television.

"Do what?" I can tell he's still smiling.

"Pay for my plane ticket. First-class? Seriously, Josh. I've never flown first-class."

"Yeah, you did. That time –"

"From Houston to St. Louis, I know." I interrupt.

"You never let me hear the end of it," he says. "I had to put up with your whining about coach for over a month. To you, flying on Air Force One is going coach?"

"That's different." I tilt my head and smile.

He sighs. "I wanted you to be comfortable. It's a long flight."

"Grazie." I try my first Italian word on him.

"Already in the spirit?" I hear voices around him. He must've gone back to the meeting.

"I'll thank you in person in a week."

The flight attendant makes an announcement about cell phones.

"That's our cue," I say.

There's a long pause. "Be safe, Donna."

"I will." I lick my lips, wanting to say more. "Bye, Josh."

I think I hang up before he does. I close my eyes, imagining Josh standing in the middle of a room, swallowing hard. Maybe running a hand over his hair, making it even messier than it already is.

"Can I get you a beverage before takeoff, Ms. Moss?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It's time to start thinking about my grandmother and Italy.


	2. Chapter 2

After 15 hours on a plane, 611 pages of reading, and 14 Italian phrases, I arrive in Marlia. The way I know I'm in Marlia is the driver points at me, gets off the bus and removes my suitcase from the cargo bin.

"Dove è questo indirizzo?" I ask, pointing to the address my mother gave me. "È vicinio?"

"Si. È qui. Vada a destra, allora a sinistra," he says as if it's the easiest thing in the world.  
"Destra is right and sinistra is left," I say.

"Si, signorina. Ciao!" He hops back on the bus.

I'm left standing with my luggage in front of a sign that reads "Villa Pecci-Blunt." I recognize the name from my Italian book, but I'm too tired to look it up. I take a sip of water from the large bottle I bought in Pisa and flip open to the back of my book to confirm 'destra' is right.

I start walking down the narrow road, tugging my suitcase behind me. My hair is falling out of its ponytail, and my lips are chapped. I have a wool sweater over my black silk top, but it's still chilly at this hour. 

I look at my watch. If it's 1 a.m. in California, it's 10 a.m. here. I've slept a total of four hours, which isn't out of the ordinary for me on a typical campaign day.

The tall green hedges on both sides of me are magnificent. When I walk past them, I realize I'm on a hill. Looking down, I see fields of sunflowers and rows of what I'm assuming are olive trees. I take a deep breath and smell lavender and rosemary. I notice the small purple and pine-like bushes lining the street. 

Church bells startle me. They're coming from below. I try to spot the church, but everything looks like ancient bricked structures from up here.

A small vehicle pulls up next to me. It looks like a Mini Cooper truck. 

"Siete persi, donna?" one man asks, while the other lights a cigarette. 

At first it frightens me that they know my name, then I remember "donna" means "woman" in Italian.

"No." I continue walking.

They laugh and exchange words in Italian.

"È Americana." The man driving hits his friend on the shoulder.

"Yes, I'm American. Non parlo italiano. Please leave." I'm getting nervous.

"What is a beautiful woman like you doing on this road?" the man with the cigarette asks in a thick Italian accent.

I look at the folded piece of paper in my hand, debating whether I should ask these creeps for directions.

"I take it this is your first visit to Marlia?" he asks, blowing a puff of smoke in his friend's face.

It makes me smile.

"Ah, bella donna! You can smile bigger than this, no?"

I look at him. He's a stereotypical Italian – dark, curly hair, blue eyes and thin from what I can tell. "You really want to help me?"

"Si, signorina! We wish to help."

I stop, and the truck stops next to me. I hand him the address and put my hands on my hips. "How far am I from this address?"

"Ah." The man says a long line of Italian words to his friend. "Albergo Girasole. Down this hill and to the right, you will find it."

"Grazie." I take the paper back from him.

"Prego, signorina. Sorisso!" The men speed away.

I exhale, then take another sip of water. As I start my descent, I realize no matter what happens here, communicating won't be easy.

***  
There's a small bronze plaque on the wall to my right with Albergo Girasole, Via Porto Rossa 125 engraved on it. I've arrived.

I walk up a short cobblestone path with weeds peeking through the gaps. I see two houses on the property – one is a grand two-story stucco building; the other is a small cottage. I remain on the path, which leads to the two-story house. There are vines growing on all sides of the house, covering most of the raw stucco but skirting around the light blue shutters with chipped paint. The four windows are open, and I hear people talking. Before I knock, I look around me. There's a short crumbling stone fence surrounding the property, which must be at least 5 acres. In front of the wall are dozens of lemon and orange trees. A large garden in need of some work sits on the west side of the house. In front of the cottage, there are at least 10 sunflowers which appear taller than me. On the east side, there's a huge veranda with rustic furniture that could use some sanding and varnish. The place looks inviting, yet worn.

I take a final look at the address, then shove it in my pocket. I knock on the door.

A big-breasted woman answers.

"Non siamo aperti!" She waves her hand at me and closes it.

"Wait!" I yell, placing my hand flat against the massive door. "I..." I quickly flip to the back of my book. "Sono perso."

"Perso?" the woman asks.

"Non parlo italiano. Sono Americana." I take a deep breath. "Look, I've been traveling for nearly 20 hours. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm looking for my grandmother's house. I was supposed to arrive last night for her funeral, but they just don't make airplanes that fast."

A little girl who looks exactly like I must've looked 30 years ago stands next to me and points. "La bella donna è Americana?" 

"Si."

I notice a long wooden table to my left.

"I don't mean to cause any trouble, honest." I put my hands over my heart. "Can you please tell me where I can find my Nonna? Her name was Sofia Bova. I don't have a picture of her. She died – e morto – a few days ago, and I'm..."

I see a man stand up at the table, so I stop talking. A small boy who looks just like the little girl wraps his arms around the man's leg.

"Sofia Bova?"

I take a step forward. "Yes. Do you know her?"

The busty woman in black says something about God in Italian and throws her arms around me. When she pulls back, I regain my breath and straighten my blouse.

"Donnatella? Cio e Donnatella!" She presents me to the people around the table.

"How do you know my name?"

"Your grandmother, Sofia, was my best friend." The woman brings a handkerchief to her eyes. "Ah, Donnatella!" She wraps her arms around me once again. I can hardly breathe.

When she releases me, I look around. "Is this a hotel? Did my grandmother stay here?"

The people at the table look at each other. The father of the blonde children responds, "Your grandmother owned here. She owned all of here." He sweeps his hands around the room.

The little girl looks up at him. "Not here, pappa. 'This'. Signora Bova owned all of 'this'."

My grandmother owned a small hotel in Tuscany? This is certainly unexpected.

*  
"My grandmother owned this place?"

"Si, Donnatella. Sit, sit!" 

A woman who looks only a few years older than me scoots over, making room.

The elderly woman dressed all in black has a round face with wrinkles in all the places you'd expect for a 70-year-old woman. Her hands look arthritic. She's constantly flexing her fingers, presumably to make the pain subside. 

"Albergo Girasole was part of the convent next door for many years," she says with a heavy Italian accent. "In Tuscany, there is a shortage of nuns, so the church was forced to sell much of the property. Your Nonna stayed here for a few weeks many years ago, and she fell in love. When it went for sale, she bought it. Sofia restored the property and made the main house – this house – an albergo." She pats an elderly man's arm. "My husband, Vincent, and I are the caretakers."

"Albergo Girasole," the small girl says. "Sunflower hotel."

"Ah, you should meet Stella." Maria smiles.

The blonde girl curtsies next to me. "How do you do, signorina? My name is Stella Raguzzi."

I smile. "Hello, Stella. You're quite fluent in English."

"Stella speaka inglese more than she speaka italiano," her father says. "Her brother, Stefan, pays no attenzione in inglese. He is most interested in le raggaze!"

Everyone laughs.

"'Raggaze' means 'girls'," Stella says, rolling her eyes.

"Buongiorno, Donnatella. Mi chiamo Anna." The woman next to the man greets me with a head nod. She's blonde, which I didn't expect. I thought everyone in Italy had dark hair. "These are mi bambini, Stella e Stefan." She looks at Stella. "Come diti gemelli?"

"We're twins," Stella translates.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say to Anna.

"This is my wife." He rubs Anna's back. "I am Dante. We were great friends of your Nonna." Dante shakes my hand. "We own a bar on the piazza."

"I should clarify," Stella says. "American bars serve wine, yes?"

I nod.

"Italian bars serve coffee. Enoteca serves wine. Pasticceria serves dessert," she explains.

Wow. I might have to bring Stella with me wherever I go.

"You must meet the rest, then we tour the old house," Maria says.

"I am Lucia," says the woman next to me. She's the stereotypical Italian woman. Her hair is shiny and long and her voice is deep. She has a gold cross on her necklace which she hasn't stopped touching. "We are sorry for your loss. Signora Bova was a special woman."

I bow my head, almost embarrassed that I know little to nothing about my grandmother. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you."

"Last but not least, my husband, Vincent," Maria says. She walks over to him.

Vincent is a stocky old man with an almost bald head and dark blue eyes. His hands are covered with sun spots and calluses, but they seem tender. Vincent's smile is magnificent.

"Non parlo inglese," he says.

"Vincent is the only one who speaks no inglese." Maria touches his shoulder. "But he takes care of this land."

I try taking everything in, but it makes me lightheaded. All of these people were a big part of my grandmother's life. They know more about her than I do.

Maria offers me some bread, jelly and a glass of orange juice. I listen to stories about my grandmother, mostly told in Italian. Stella translates for me. Nonna tutored children on weekends; helped the nuns take care of the convent next door; housed Maria and Vincent; and ironically enough, loved politics. She was incredibly respected and loved in Marlia.

Maria must've seen the light in my eye at the mention of politics, so she sends Vincent to the cottage to retrieve a box. "Just you wait, Donnatella," she says.

Maria and Lucia show me around the hotel. The floor throughout the house is terracotta and the walls are washed with yellow paint. The ceiling has exposed wooden beams. It looks like some of the houses I've seen on HGTV. To my right is a small "salone," or sitting area, with a floral-print sofa and two armchairs with dingy white slipcovers. There's a red rug with gold accents running the length of the salone. The fireplace looks like it hasn't been used in a long time, but the vent is ornately painted with pastel-colored flowers. To my left is the long oak table with a few chairs with wicker bottoms and two long benches on each side. There are three wine bottles with candles stuffed inside, and dried wax oozing over the edges.

The kitchen has marble countertops and several iron hooks on the wall. Copper pots and pans hang from each hook. On the shelves, there are five stacks of white dishes and three stacks of glasses. An espresso machine is tucked in the far corner across from the stainless steel refrigerator. There's a pot of boiling water on the stove that Anna is tending. She lifts two handfuls of spaghetti and drops it in the pot.

"You must be hungry after a long day of flighting," Anna says as I pass.

"Flying, mama," Stella corrects. She looks up at me for approval.

I smile and pat her on the head. "You really are good."

"I can do English very well, but when it comes to math, not so much."

"You and I are going to spend some quality time together."

She smiles. "I'd like that. I can teach you Italian, and you can teach me more English."

"I have a feeling you'd get the fuzzy end of that deal."

"You see," she says. "I don't understand 'fuzzy deal'. You teach me."

"Are you coming, Donnatella?" Maria calls from the top of the stairwell.

I climb up the stairs and join Maria and Lucia. There are four rooms upstairs, all about the same size. Each room is a different color, and all of them could use a fresh coat of paint. The rooms have double beds with wrought-iron headboards, a matching footstool and end table, a cypress armoire and a leather chair facing the window. Two rooms have floor-to-ceiling windows with sheer drapes; the other two have smaller windows with white wooden blinds. There are two bathrooms upstairs. Both have travertine walls and floors. One of the bathrooms has a large shower with a glass door and silver accents. The other has a deep, claw-foot tub and a porcelain pedestal sink.

"This place is beautiful."

"Your grandmother did much work in the beginning," Maria says, fluffing a pillow. "She suffered with the cancer for three months, so some of the things she wanted to do got left behind."

"It needs some work, especially the grounds, but it is a lovely place," Lucia says, touching a fresco.

"She rented these rooms?" I ask.

"Si. Sofia often had a full house, especially in summer. July was busiest always," Maria replies.

I think of the people who must've stayed here – couples, students, families. "Is the hotel closed now?"

Maria sighs. "We have been closed for two months. Sofia did the ordering of soaps and food and all things that make an albergo run smoothly. Vincent and I do not know how to do this."

I take Maria's hand. "I can help."

She tilts her head and smiles. "That is what she would want."

"Maria! Lucia! Vincent e qui!" Dante yells from the bottom of the stairwell. "Ha una scatola grande."

I look at Stella for translation.

"He has a big box," she says. Stella giggles. "This is fun."

Vincent puts a large wooden wine crate on the table, and I sit in front of it.

Maria sidles up to Vincent. "Sofia's keepsakes. She'd want you to see them." They leave me alone.

Inside the box are about 15 manila folders, three journals, a trophy, a plaque, a few magazines, a jewelry box, and several photographs. 

I flip through the journals first. Each one spans about five years. My grandmother seems to have written about once a month for 35 years. Most of the entries are in English and are about her daily life. A few of them discuss family matters. I'll read them from cover to cover later. 

The trophy is for winning first place at a flute concert. The plaque is for "best poem" in an oratory contest in 1942. The jewelry box is broken, but it's beautiful. The outside appears to be real gold, and the inside is red velvet. The photographs are all black and white. They seem to be from Nonna's childhood.

Each manila folder has a set of dates on the tab. I flip through the first one, which contains newspaper clippings about my great-grandfather's death. The next few folders contain essays, articles and other documents my grandmother wrote or possibly found fascinating during her four years at Barnard College. I stop for a moment and put my head in my hands.

"Donnatella, are you all right?" Anna asks from the kitchen.

"I think so." I sit up straight. "May I have a glass of water?"

Anna brings me a tall glass of water and some bruschetta. "We will have lunch soon. Eat this for now."

I take several sips of water and eat a few bites of the best bruschetta I've ever tasted before continuing to sort through the box. 

The next few folders are from my mother's childhood – report cards, Mother's Day gifts, school projects, etc. I am not prepared for what the final two folders contain: everything about the Bartlet administration.

Most of the newspaper articles are from the New York Times, The International Herald-Tribune, or the Italian papers. When I get to the articles about Rosslyn, my heart skips a beat. Each article features a picture of Josh. I run my hand over the old paper and take a deep breath. I don't have the strength to read them. Tears burn my eyes as I remember that dark time, and I wonder, if on some deep level, my grandmother knew. 

After what feels like hours of reflection, I continue flipping through the articles. Most of them are about typical American politics; things we accomplished or meant to accomplish over the past eight years.

The last few articles are about the explosion in Gaza. One has a professional headshot of me, the other is a shot of me in a wheelchair, shaking a man's hand. The key to this picture though is Josh. He's standing behind me, one hand gripped on the wheelchair handle, the other on my shoulder. His jaw is clenched. He looks like he's surveying the crowd. I try fighting the tears and reach for the scar on my leg.

"What is it, Donnatella?" Maria puts an arm around my shoulders. "Something has upset you?"

I wipe my eyes. "I'm just learning so much."

"Why don't you take a break? It's lunchtime."

I stand, and before I know it, Maria's arms are around my waist. Again, I'm breathless. "Thank you, Maria."

"Prego, Donnatella."

Maria barks a few commands in Italian, and the people in the salone scurry around the kitchen and dining area. I feel a strong urge to call Josh. When I pull out my cell, I notice there's no reception.

"Stella?" I ask.

The blonde girl stops setting the table. "Yes?"

I bend to her eye-level. "I'm trying to use my phone, but there's no signal. Is there a phone I can use?"

"Follow me." She takes my hand, and although this is a nine-year-old girl, her touch is comforting.

"Where are you taking me?"

She stops at the front door of the cottage. "Signora Bova lived here. This was her home. She has a telephone."

"Wasn't there one in the main house?" I ask.

She smiles as she opens the door. "Yes, but I figured you'd want some privacy."

"Thank you, Stella."

She ushers me in, then closes the door.

The cottage is even more charming than the main house. The walls are white-washed and the floor is hardwood. The hearth is nearly the size of one wall. The living room is full of antique furniture, including an old record player and two crates of 45s. There are six bookcases along two walls. There must be over a thousand books in the small space. A round table sits just outside the kitchen. There's only one small bedroom, but it's beautifully decorated. An iron four-post bed with linen drapes pulled back on either side is situated in the middle of the room. The dressers and armoire match the furniture in the living room. The bathroom is similar to the one with the claw-foot tub in the main house. It looks as if no one has lived here in years.

After touring the cottage, I locate the phone. It takes me four tries before I'm able to connect to an American number.

"Hello?" a groggy voice answers.

"Josh?"

"Donna?" Suddenly his voice isn't so groggy.

"Yeah." I let out a long sigh and touch my hand to my forehead. "I made it."

"I tried calling your cell a couple times."

"Apparently, there's no service here." I sit back and press the phone to my ear.

"I figured as much." I hear him adjusting. It sounds like he's in bed. "How is everything?"

I sigh. "Overwhelming."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't know anything about my grandmother, and now I'm bombarded with everything from her life. It's almost surreal."

"A lot to take in?" 

"Yeah, and I'm exhausted. It's been a long 48 hours," I say.

"Come up with anything interesting?"

"My grandmother was sort of a pack rat." I play with the phone cord. "She journaled and kept drawings and articles and all sorts of memorabilia. She has two folders about the Bartlet administration, Josh."

I picture him scratching his head. "Why?"

"I haven't figured it out yet. I think she was just fascinated by American politics." I pull my legs under my body. "She graduated from Barnard with a degree in comparative literature."

"Wow."

"I know." I rest my head against the back of the sofa.

"She sounds a lot like you."

I smile a small smile. "I just wish I would've known her."

"Yeah," he whispers.

We remain silent for a minute.

"You're doing the right thing."

"I know." I want to tell him I wish he was here. "I should go. My grandmother's friends are making pasta for lunch."

"Real Italian pasta? I'm jealous." I can almost see him smirking.

"I'll call you soon."

"Donna?" he whispers. 

"Yes?"

There's a pause in his voice; like he wants to say more. "Be safe."

"You too."

With that, I hang up and put my head in my hands. I make a mental note to locate my grandmother's will tomorrow and get things settled as soon as possible. I need to be home.


	3. Incrocio

I wake up not knowing where I am. I remember eating lunch, listening to stories about my grandmother, and sitting in the salone of the main house, sipping wine.

Now I'm tucked deep in the sheets of the four-post bed in the cottage. Sun is streaming through the sheer drapes. A bird is chirping loudly. I sit up, realizing I'm in Nonna's house. I walk into the living room and notice a large envelope on the kitchen counter.

From what I can tell, it's my grandmother's will, but it's in Italian. I take a quick shower, then make my way to the main house with the envelope in hand. As I walk to the house, I'm struck by the beauty around me. There's a field painted yellow with some kind of broom-like flower and a trimming of bright red poppies. A large flock of birds is making a clamor in the lemon trees. The air smells like perfume clouded by the tang of burning wood. I look in the distance and see smoke coming out of several chimneys.

Maria and Vincent are sipping coffee in the kitchen. A nun is sitting at the head of the long table. They're all speaking Italian.

"Morning," I say.

"Ah, Donnatella. I hope you slept well," Maria says, walking toward me. "This is Sr. Catherine Hosannah Disanto."

The elderly nun stands and shakes my hand. "We miss your grandmother already." Her hands are cold but strong.

"Thank you. I only wish I'd known her better." I throw in the word "better" so it doesn't seem like I don't know her at all.

"She admired you, Donnatella. She said you were making the world a better place," Sr. Catherine says in her thick Italian accent.

"I wouldn't go that far." I smile. "I work...I'm sorry, worked for the government."

Maria brings me a cup of espresso. "This is caffe, not coffee, as you Americans say. You will learn to love it."

"Grazie, Maria," I say, taking a sip.

"Ah, practicing italiano already?" She pats me on the back, then marches back into the kitchen to help Vincent with breakfast.

Sr. Catherine takes my arm and leads me to the table. She leans on me a bit before taking her seat. "You are modest. You worked for the American President. President Bartlet."

I lower my head. "Yes, I did."

"You are not proud?" Sr. Catherine asks with raised eyebrows.

"No! I mean, yes, I'm incredibly proud." My hand flies to my heart. "It was an honor working for the President."

Sr. Catherine looks at me like she's about to tell a secret. "Sofia had a crush on the President."

I blush. "Really?"

She nods, then lets out a loud belly-laugh. 

Maria sneaks up behind me. "It is true. She talked about him all the time."

"Maybe she just liked American politics?" I ask.

"That much is certain," Maria says, setting a plate of assorted cold cuts in front of me. "But she loved your President Bartlet."

I smile.

"What is in the envelope?" Maria asks.

I pull out the stack of papers. "I think it's my grandmother's will, but I'm not sure."

"Yes," she responds. "Sofia left it for you." She walks into her room and comes back with a smaller envelope. "She asked me to give you this: istruzioni."

I open the small envelope. "Instructions?"

"Si."

I eat a few bites of meat while scanning the document, which is written in English. It says I have to go to my grandmother's lawyer in Florence to translate the will and get further instruction.

"How far is Florence?"

"It is a long ride," Sr. Catherine says.

"Nonsense, Sorella Catherine! It will take you less than two hours by car," Maria says.

"I have to meet my grandmother's attorney there," I respond, scanning the document. "Should I take a bus?"

"Lucia's family lives in Firenze. You should travel this weekend," Maria says, sitting next to me with a plate of eggs, fruit, and bread and butter. "La colazione – breakfast."

*  
I spend the morning combing through my grandmother's place. I find skis and a ski jacket in her closet, which makes me smile. I end up reading two of her journals and discover a lot about her childhood. I figure writing to Josh will help me remember some of the facts, so I find some paper and a pen and begin writing.

_Josh,_

_I came upon several journals about my grandmother's life from her childhood in the 1920s to present. I thought you'd appreciate reading a bit about my family tree, but if I'm mistaken, feel free to leave the rest of my letters unopened. Since I'm not keeping a journal, I'd like to use these letters as a diary of sorts. I'll pick them up from you when I return in a week._

_Sofia Bova was born in 1925 to Carmela, a housewife and Aldo, a colonel in the Italian Army. My great-grandfather, Aldo, died when his division invaded Albania, driving King Zog into exile in Greece. He was 32 years old. The next year (1940), my great-grandmother moved with her only child, Sofia, to Brooklyn. Carmela was a cook and waitress at a small Italian restaurant called Aliseo Osteria del Borgo in Prospect Heights. My grandmother was 15 at the time, and her English was terrible. Instead of being in ninth grade, Sofia was held back a year. She hated everything about Brooklyn – the people, the language, the streets, the food. It wasn't until she went to Barnard that she fell in love with New York City._

_In the summer of 1947, she met my grandfather, Robert Young from Warroad, Minnesota. He was a senior mechanical engineering student at Columbia University with every intention of moving back home when he graduated. They married in December and had my mother in October 1948. After my grandmother graduated from Barnard in 1949, they moved back to Warroad. The only thing she kept was her last name._

_If Sofia hated Brooklyn as a child, she hated Warroad even more as an adult. She said the city was "devoid of anything culturally pleasing, including the people." Robert didn't want her to work, so she tutored the neighborhood children between the end of school and when he came home from work. When my mother was four, my grandfather had a one-night stand with a British woman. They went to counseling (back then, with the local priest) every week for two years after that._

_My mom and dad were married in 1969. They were both 21. They had my sister a year later, and I was born in 1973. My grandmother used to take me on short road trips throughout the year. My sister cried every time she got in a car. I used to make drawings and finger paint art for my grandmother. I'm looking at this art work now._

_Ironically, when I was four years old, my grandfather once again cheated on my grandmother. This time, my grandmother left him. He refused to grant her a divorce, although he admitted the affair. My mother took my grandfather's side, and they basically sent my grandmother into exile. She moved back to Marlia shortly afterwards._

_I didn't know the whole story before this moment. I wish you were here, sharing it with me. My mother has a lot of explaining to do, but I doubt she'd apologize for what she did._

_I'm headed to Florence on Friday to meet with Lorenzo Gregorio, Nonna's attorney. My grandmother's friend, Lucia, is from Florence, so we'll stay at her parents' villa overnight. I'm going to try to enjoy Florence and the beauty of this country. It's hard when I feel like my whole purpose for being here is laying my grandmother to rest._

_I hope you're doing well. Eat your vegetables._

_Donna_

***  
As I stuff my makeup bag into my suitcase, I hear a foreign-sounding horn blowing in the distance. I peek out the window and see Lucia in her convertible Fiat, smoking a cigarette.

"Where is your luggage?" she asks, exhaling a long breath of smoke.

"I packed light." I throw my one bag in the trunk.

"Looks like we might need to do some shopping." She smiles.

On our drive away from Marlia, I take in the landscape. I remember to ask Lucia what the yellow flowers are, and she tells me they are called Spanish broom. As we drive, she points out chestnut and oak trees, orchards of lemon trees, vineyards surrounded by old stone walls, villas with fountains in the front and wind chimes hanging from the front porches. From what she’s said, it sounds like Tuscany comes alive in the spring – a season only rivaled by the brilliance of the fall.

We make a quick stop at the Benetton Stock Outlet where I buy three new outfits that fit in better with my surroundings. I dare not wear any of the suits I packed. They say it's easy to spot an American tourist because we all wear blue jeans, but that's not true: Italians love jeans. It's the tennis shoes that mark American tourists.

When we get on A11, driving faster than I'd ever drive in DC, Lucia starts asking me questions about my life: "Have you ever been to Italy?", "What do you do for a living?", How long are you visiting?"

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

This question causes me to hesitate. I'm not sure how to classify what I have with Josh.

"Not really," I reply.

She grins at me. "That means yes."

I laugh. "It really doesn't."

"Tell me about him." She lights another cigarette.

I'm thankful we're in a convertible.

I sigh. "He's tall, brown hair – kind of curly – brown eyes, perfect dimples." 

Lucia eyes me. "Go on."

"He's ten years older than me." I watch for her reaction, but she gives me none. "He's funny, charming, egotistical, talented, and clueless for the most part." I look out the window. "Not someone I thought I'd fall for."

"Isn't that always the case?" she puffs on her cigarette.

I raise my eyebrows and smile. "I suppose. Nothing has really happened yet."

Lucia looks at me again. "You're lying."

"I am not!"

"I can tell. You have this thing with your face when you are lying." She gestures to her own face.

"What thing?"

She laughs. "You bite your lip and look away."

I wonder if that's true. Nevertheless, she caught me. "Something happened, but it was this one time right before I left."

"It doesn't seem like one time," she says.

I brush my hair behind my ear, which is fruitless with the wind blowing it all over my face. "Well, it was."

"What's his name?"

"Josh." Just saying his name sends shivers down my spine. "Josh Lyman."

"And this Josh – he has your heart?" Lucia throws her cigarette out the window.

"Yes. Josh has my heart." I blush. I've never admitted it out loud. It feels kind of refreshing. "What about you?"

Lucia takes the next 40 minutes telling me the story of her husband. She met Ricardo at the university. He dropped out to cook at one of the finest restaurants in Florence with dreams of opening his own restaurant. When Osteria del Neni went up for sale in Marlia, Ricardo bought it with all of his savings. He proposed to Lucia the same night. One week before the restaurant reopened, Ricardo was killed in a car accident. Lucia felt an obligation to open the restaurant in her husband's memory, and it has become the most regarded restaurant within a 20-mile radius.

**  
Lucia drops me off at the attorney's office, promising to pick me up in an hour. We're running a few minutes late because she insisted upon stopping in Peretola for lunch. If it wasn't the best lunch I've had quite possibly in my lifetime, I'd be complaining right now.

"Posso aiutarlo?" a woman behind a long desk asks.

"Non parlo italiano," I respond. "I have an appointment with Lorenzo Gregorio."

The woman picks up the phone and says a few things in Italian. Before I know it a tall, attractive man in a designer suit approaches me.

"Buongiorno, signorina," he says. "I am Lorenzo Gregorio. You must be Donnatella Moss."

I shake his hand. "Yes, I'm Donna Moss."

"Right this way." His accent isn't as thick as the other Italians I've met. It almost has a British ring.

He takes me to an office in the far corner and asks me to sit. "Your grandmother and I became somewhat close. She was a remarkable woman."

"So everyone's said." I lower my head. "I didn't really know her."

"Ah, well you missed out." I don't think he means for his comment to be hurtful. He seems genuine.

I hand him the will. "It's all in Italian. I can't even read the first line."

Lorenzo holds up his own copy of the will. "You keep that one. Here is one in English for you as well."

The first words that capture my attention are in bold at the top: Provisional Will and Testament.

"What does this mean?" I ask, pointing to the top of the page.

"I will explain everything," he says. "Caffe?"

"No, thank you." I'm ready to get this over with.

"Sofia was very clear with her wishes." He puts his elbows on his desk. "Her true love was Albergo Girasole. It was her passion, if you will. A month before she passed away, she had an appraiser and contractor asses the property." He pauses.

"Ok," I say.

"There is much work to be done on the main house to restore it to its original glory." Lorenzo pulls out a folder with several photographs and artist's drawings. "You can see what the old house looked like in 1590, when it was built by the Rosi family." He flips to the next few drawings. "This one is from 1625, and this one is from 1701 when the convent took over the property. The next one is from sometime in the early 1800s. You can see it went downhill."

I hold the drawings in my hands, noticing the fine artwork and the dates etched on the back. The house was gorgeous in its early days, but as Lorenzo says, it went downhill in the 1800s.

"These photographs were taken in the 1900s, and this last one was taken when Sofia purchased it in 1977."

"Wow," I say.

Lorenzo smiles. "It was...a majestic place."

"It was," I add.

"That is where you come in, Donnatella." He pulls out a few more pieces of paper.

"Your grandmother was a wealthy woman. She left you 25,000 euro, which is equivalent to about $30,000 for restoration of Albergo Girasole."

My eyes probably look like they're going to pop out of my head. "She left *me* $30,000?"

"To restore Albergo Girasole, yes."

I let out an incredulous chuckle. "I don't know how to restore houses. I can barely fix a clogged drain, let alone make a house look like it did 500 years ago!"

Lorenzo puts his hands flat on his desk. "I'm afraid, if you want what's next, you will have to find a way."

I sit up straight. "What's next?"

"The same contractor and an appraiser will meet with you to discuss the renovation. The appraiser will make regular visits to the property to ensure the quality and speed of work." He ruffles through a file as if looking for a specific document. "When the work is complete and Albergo Girasole is restored, you will inherit your grandmother's fortune."

My leg is bouncing. I put my hand on my thigh to still it. "Her fortune?"

He looks in my eyes. "The equivalent of $2 million."

I feel lightheaded. My palms start to sweat and my skin feels clammy. 

"Signorina, are you sick?" Lorenzo rushes to my side and barks orders to someone I can't see.

Within seconds, a woman hands me a cup of water.

"Drink this," Lorenzo says. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No," I respond, sitting up a bit. "I'm just...shocked."

When I regain my composure and drink the water, Lorenzo finishes reviewing the will with me. I'm still stuck on the $2 million. I had absolutely no idea my grandmother was wealthy.

"I will be in touch." He shakes my hand. "Good luck, Donnatella."

I walk outside in a fog. I don't even remember where I'm going or who I'm supposed to meet. Everything is blurry.

"Donnatella!" I hear a woman scream. "Attenzione! You are in the middle of la strada."

I look around and realize I'm in the middle of the street and cars are honking their horns. I quickly cross to the other side and see Lucia sitting at a table on the sidewalk two doors down.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she asks.

I brush my hair behind my ear. "Sorry about that."

Lucia smiles. "This is Michele. He is the owner of this place. You will have the finest grappa."

Michele kisses the back of my hand, then pours a glass of grappa for me. It tastes a bit sweet, but not as sweet as a Riesling.

Three glasses of grappa later, Lucia takes me to Galleria degli Uffizi. I'm a bit tipsy, but it doesn't detract from the majesty of this place. There is more art per square inch in this gallery than any other in the world. The walls are covered with artwork by Botticelli, da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, Titian and Rembrandt.

It takes us four hours to peruse the halls of the Uffizi, but I'm still not ready to leave. In those four hours, I've only thought about Nonna's will twice. If there's anything that can take my mind away, it's art.

Lucia takes me to Piazza della Signoria next, which is where most political activism happened in Florence. The Bonfire of the Vanities took place here in 1497. There's a copy of Michelangelo's David in the center, and a statue of Neptune on the left. In fact, there are probably 30 sculptures around the piazza. Josh would love this place.

By the time we sit down for dinner, it's almost 9 p.m. Lucia knows everyone, including the owner. She tells me this is the restaurant where her husband worked. She lifts her glass of wine, chugs the dark liquid, and pours another. There's a photograph of Ricardo near the kitchen, which she shows me later.

I allow Lucia to order for me: trippa in insalata is the first course, followed by risotto al carciofi con scamorza, l'anatra con mirtillo, and carbonata. We finish with ricotta montata col cioccolato fuso – sheep's milk cheese topped with chocolate sauce.

When I find out later that I ate tripe salad and duck with blueberries, I nearly choke. Nevertheless, the food is phenomenal. The two bottles of Brunello di Montalcino are even better. Lucia is a food and wine expert. She explains everything to me first in Italian, then in English. However, by my fifth or sixth glass of wine, I find it hard to retain anything.

We arrive at Lucia's parents' villa close to midnight. I napped on the way here, which was apparently a 45-minute drive. 

The villa is perched atop a hill just north of Florence. We enter through a rose garden. I hear laughter coming from inside and wonder, not for the first time, if people in this country sleep. Lucia introduces me to her father, an art history professor at the university, and her mother, an artist. I find it hard to pay attention to them partly because I'm drunk and partly because of the interior of the house. The walls are covered with paintings and frescoes. There are tall vases with sunflowers and smaller ones with poppies.

Lucia shows me around the villa, and I'm amazed that people actually live here. It resembles a museum more than a home. She asks if I'd like some Prosecco, a sweet sparkling wine not to be confused with champagne. I turn her down, favoring sleep.

Before I go to bed, I ask Lucia if I may use the phone. She grins and brings me a cordless phone.

"Hello?"

"Joshua, Josh, Josh," I say.

"Are you drunk?" I picture him smirking.

"Maybe," I reply. "We had a lot of wine."

"Where the hell are you, and who is 'we'?" he asks playfully.

"I'm at a villa in Florence with Lucia."

"Lucia's a female name, right?" I hear him order a caramel macchiato. He must be at The Coffee Bean. Josh loves caramel macchiatos at The Coffee Bean.

"Did you think I'd fall for the first Italian man I met?"

"Have you?"

"Josh!" I take my hair out of the ponytail. "I only have eyes for you."

"Ok, now I know you're drunk," he says.

"I had some wine." I put on my pajama pants.

"Lots of wine, I assume." He thanks the barrista. I assume he's headed to the condiment counter to add more sugar to the already sweet coffee.

"There were bottles," I say, taking off my blouse.

"Where did you get these bottles?" he asks.

"In Florence at a restaurant with Lucia. I ate duck tonight, Josh. I've never had duck." I put on my pajama top, then lay on my back.

"You've never had duck because you refuse to eat 'those cute little things', as you once put it."

"I know." I make a face. "I can't believe I ate it. It was good."

He chuckles. "How's Florence?"

"I don't want to leave." I roll on my side and turn off the lamp.

There's a long pause. "I'm sure it's beautiful."

"We went to the Uffizi and the Piazza della Signoria, where all of the political riots and protests took place. It was amazing."

"Sounds like my kind of place," he says. "Did you meet with the attorney?"

"That's the part I want to talk to you about when I'm, you know, sober."

I think he stops walking. "Is it bad?"

"Depends on how you look at it." I shrug.

"Call me tomorrow," he says. "By the way, I checked on your flight home. You leave at 11 o'clock instead of one, which means you get to DC two hours early." I can almost hear him smiling.

"Oh." I forgot I'm going home in two days.

"Get some rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Buona sera, Josh."

***  
It doesn't take much convincing for me to agree to stay in Florence another night. Lucia promises to take me to three more museums and shopping. I put off calling Josh until the evening. He's not going to like what I have to say.

However, I decide to call my mother. This is a conversation I'd just as soon avoid, but she'd probably like to know I'm alive.

"Hello?"

"Mom, hi." I found the only place in the house with cell phone reception is in the bathroom downstairs.

"Donna, where are you?" There's just a hint of worry in her voice.

"In Italy."

"Still?" she asks.

"It's only been four days."

"Did you go to the funeral?" I hear her heels clanking on the hardwood floor.

"I missed it, but I've met most of Nonna's friends."

"You flew 3,000 miles and you _missed_ the funeral?"

This woman infuriates me. I sit with a thud on the toilet lid. "If I'd found out about Nonna's death a little sooner, I would've made it."

"You're blaming me?" There's that accusatory tone I miss so little.

"I'm not blaming you, Mom." I take a deep breath. "I met with the attorney. Did you know Nonna owned a small hotel?"

There's silence.

"She left me some money to restore the property. I'm going to stay in Italy until the project is complete."

"You're going to renovate a hotel?" She lets out an incredulous chuckle.

I brush a piece of hair out of my face. "I'm going to oversee the renovations, yes."

"She strapped you into a good one." I picture her shaking her head.

I stand and look at my reflection in the mirror. I hate that I look so much like my mother. 

"I'm doing this because it's what my grandmother wanted," I whisper. 

"Fine," she huffs. "Be careful in that foreign country, Donna. Italians are rapists and philanderers."

My mouth hangs open. "How can you say that? Do you even know any Italians?"

"I've heard about them," she responds.

I lower my head. There's no use arguing with her. She'll always be an opinionated racist. "Please tell dad I said hello."

"He's deer hunting this weekend, but I'll tell him when he returns."

"Goodbye, Mom."

She hangs up.

I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I had every intention of telling my mom about the $2 million inheritance. However, if I did, she'd want a piece of it. She'd try defending her mother and saying nice things to me. To hear just a few compliments from her, I might've given in. I might've agreed to share the money. But there were no compliments; no niceties. I'm faced for the hundreth time with the reality that my mom is a cold woman who thinks of no one but herself.

After taking a few calming breaths, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and get dressed. I don't intend to dwell on that conversation while I'm in Italy. In fact, I don't intend to call or write to my mother for the rest of my trip.

***  
Lucia takes me to Badia Fiorentina, an ancient church, then to the Bargello. During the Renaissance, the Bargello was used as a prison and the exterior served as a "most wanted" billboard: effigies of notorious criminals and Medici enemies were painted on its walls. Today, it houses the Museo Nazionale, containing what is probably the finest collection of Renaissance sculpture in Italy. The Bargello is to sculpture what the Uffizi is to painting. 

We eat panini from an alimentari, then we split yet another bottle of wine at an enoteca. Lucia tells me "a day without wine is like a day without sunshine." I look out the window: it's raining.

Following lunch, we visit two more museums, one of which houses some of Lucia's mother's artwork. When the weather clears up, we head to the Campanile, a Gothic bell tower made of multi-colored marble. The view from the 414th step is breathtaking. Besides the Uffizi, this is my favorite spot in Florence.

On our drive back to Lucia's villa, we stop at three clothing boutiques. I buy a few linen items and a new pair of pajamas. Lucia laughs at me, saying real women sleep nude.

I'm grateful to get off my feet and into more comfortable clothes when we arrive back at the villa at 7 p.m. Lucia's parents have prepared a pranzo, a full meal with five courses. I eat everything they serve, wondering if any of it is duck. I ask Lucia not to tell me what we're eating until after dessert. 

The best course is the primo: taglierini con porcini – long, thin, flat pasta with porcini mushrooms. For dessert we have sorbetto al limoncello, which is lemon-liquor flavored sorbet. I don't count the bottles of wine we drink tonight. I just know that I'm once again tipsy. Lucia tells me it's the limoncello.

Just as I'm getting ready for bed, Lucia barges in my room.

"What are you doing, Donnatella?"

"Putting on my pajamas," I respond.

She laughs. "No, no, no! Get dressed. Wear this." She hands me a black, off-the-shoulder dress."

"This?"

"Yes, we are going out." She closes the door behind her. "Make it quick. Luigi will pick us up in a few minutes," she yells.

Despite my utter exhaustion, I cannot refuse a night on the town with Lucia. She's been incredibly helpful and generous on this trip, so I feel as though I owe her.

Luigi and his British friend Tom pick us up just after 11 p.m. They give me a description of four bars and ask me to choose two. On the drive there, they teach me short Italian phrases and laugh when I repeat them. I find out later they were teaching me how to curse.

When we arrive at the first club, Rex, the bouncer, greets Lucia with a kiss. She explains this club attracts a trendy, artsy clientele. Stepping inside, I'm not surprised to find red velvet drapes, votive candles and paintings on the walls. There's a huge bar in the center of the room, and a DJ is spinning music in the far corner.

Tom orders a round of martinis.

"We do not only drink wine in Italy," Lucia says, toasting my glass.

By the time we leave Rex, I've been hit on by no less than ten men. Only two of them were unattractive, but they were all smarmy. I think of calling Josh, but I decide against it. What would he think if I was drunk two nights in a row?

It's 1 a.m. when we arrive at Via di Fuga. According to Luigi, it's the place to see and be seen. There's a courtyard in the back, and a band is performing. Tom orders another round of drinks, but I pass. Lucia drags me to the dance floor, and we dance for what feels like hours.

We're four of the last people in the club. When we walk outside, it's almost dawn.

"What the hell time is it?" I ask.

Luigi laughs. "Morning time!"

I look at my watch: 4:15 a.m. I forgot to call Josh.

***  
When I wake up at God-knows-what-time, I have two hangovers: one from too much alcohol and one from too much art.

Lucia appears to be fine. I wonder what her secret is.

"Buongiorno, Donnatella," she says. "Eat this and we will get on our way." She hands me a plate of eggs and bacon and a piece of fruit I don't recognize.

I do as I'm told while Lucia is on the phone.

"That was Maria," she says. "A contractor called for you. He will be at Albergo Girasole this evening."

I quickly pack and meet Lucia at the car. I hug her parents, thanking them for their hospitality. They invite me to visit any time.

On the drive back to Marlia, I think about the presidential campaign – the early mornings and late nights; the identical hotel rooms; the stale air in the local VFW hall; the bumpy bus rides. Despite all of that and quite possibly because of it, I miss campaigning. More specifically, I miss campaigning with Josh. He's like a wind-up doll with extended batteries this time of year. 

I remember toward the end of the first campaign, Josh was in my hotel room rambling on and on about US dependence on foreign oil. He was bouncing on his toes and gesticulating as wildly as ever. I went to the ice machine, and in the two minutes I was gone, Josh had fallen fast asleep in the desk chair. I didn't have the heart to wake him, so he slept in that awkward position all night.

Part of me feels guilty for not being there this time around. I'd like to think I made a difference in the campaign for President Bartlet if only as an outlet for Josh's political ideas. I fear I'm letting Josh down – letting the party down.

I think of how I'm going to tell him about my grandmother's will. How to tell him I'm not coming home tomorrow. How to tell him I'm not coming home for quite some time. 

Lucia has to literally shake me awake when we arrive in Marlia. 

"You are a heavy sleeper," she comments.

"Sorry." I twist my body, trying to get the kinks out of my back. "Where are we?"

"We just arrived in Marlia," she says. "You were mumbling."

"I was?"

Lucia smiles. "Something about foreign oil and Josh."

"Really?" As far as I know, I don't talk in my sleep.

"He's on your mind." She glances at me.

"The campaign is on my mind." I rub my eyes. "I guess I was dreaming."

"You worked for the President, yes?" she asks. 

"I worked on both campaigns for President Bartlet." I give her a small smile.

"And you miss this campaigning?"

I nod.

Lucia laughs and throws her head back.

"What's so funny?"

"Ah, Donnatella. I believe you. I believe you miss the campaign, but it is il vostro cuore you miss the most."

I look out the window to hide my blushing cheeks.

Lucia has taken to calling Josh either "my heart" or "il mio dolce" – my sweet. I've told her on several occasions if she met Josh, she wouldn't refer to him as "sweet." Then I had to explain the nuances of arrogance.

When we arrive at the front gate of Albergo Girasole, I thank Lucia for an amazing weekend and grab my bag from the trunk.

"We will do it again soon," she says.

As I walk up the driveway, I see Maria standing in front of the main house with her hands on her hips. She's yelling at a man dressed like a service station attendant. 

"He hands me this." Maria shoves a piece of paper in my hands, then puts her hands back on her hips.

The document is in Italian, but I recognize the euro symbol.

"Is this a bill?" I ask.

"This man says it is settled. He says Sofia commissioned him to work on Albergo Girasole."

"Who sent you?" I ask the man.

"It was Sofia," he says with raised hands. "She said for me to wait for the call from Signore Gregorio. He called yesterday and says to report to here."

I turn to Maria. "I can explain."

I tell her about my grandmother's will, leaving out some of the finer details. As I explain the will, I get a clearer understanding of what I'm undertaking. This is a major project that will require all of my attention for an extended period of time. People are looking at me to make decisions that affect not only this historic property, but also their livelihood. My shoulders tense up.

"We will invite the man inside and see what he has to say." Maria folds her arms. 

The contractor introduces himself as Giuseppe Bonura and says he's been to Albergo Girasole on two occasions. Vincent chimes in, telling Maria he remembers Signore Bonura. This seems to calm Maria. We review all of his recommendations for remodeling, and I show him the drawings and photographs Lorenzo Gregorio gave me. 

Maria and Vincent's eyes light up when they see the pictures. Maria says she remembers driving by Albergo Girasole as a child when it was at the height of its glory. Vincent nods and holds a photograph closer. 

It's a color picture dated October 1979. The Bougainvillea growing on the façade of the house was in full bloom. The shutters were as blue as Vincent's eyes. There appears to have been a different door – tall, dark wood with a black iron handle – and there were gas lanterns on either side. The traditional Spanish-style roof looked new. There were rose bushes lining the cobblestone walkway and two topiaries at the entrance.

"Era bello," Vincent whispers.

"Si," Maria says. "This was the beginning. Everything was perfect. The lemon trees were so full, we could not pick the fruit fast enough. We had enough limoncello to open a bar." She looks at me. "Sofia had to create a waiting list for rooms. We were full even in the winter months. Couples would visit, and the next year, they would bring their families."

Vincent hands me the photograph. Albergo Girasole looked alive.

Signore Bonura says it will take him and his men six months to complete the project. Copper plumbing and a new roof will take the most time. 

I'm completely torn. On the one hand, I want to honor my grandmother's will and make Albergo Girasole as glorious as it once was. On the other, I didn't plan on staying in Marlia for six months. I was supposed to be here for a week. I wouldn't have minded extending my stay, but six months is just too long to be away from home.

When Signore Bonura finally leaves, I'm about to keel over from exhaustion. Maria instructs me to go to bed so we can get an early start tomorrow. I'm afraid to ask what she has in mind.

I didn't call Josh last night like I promised. I have the strongest urge to hear his voice right now.

"Josh Lyman," he answers.

"Hey, it's me."

"Hang on." 

I've noticed when I call Josh, he finds a private place to talk with me. He never used to do that.

I can hear gravel under his feet. "You didn't call last night," he says. "Are you packing?"

"Not exactly," I respond.

"What do you mean?" It sounds like he stopped walking.

I take a deep breath. "I met with the attorney, and he explained that my grandmother had a provisional will," I begin. "It seems she left the equivalent of $30,000 for renovations to the hotel."

"Ok," Josh says in a tone that suggests he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I exhale. "I'm supposed to oversee these renovations, Josh."

"Oversee them from where?" I can picture his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline.

"From here. From Italy," I say, waiting for his reaction. "Josh?"

"Yeah," he says. It sounds like he starts walking again. "So you're staying in Italy another couple of weeks?"

I bite my lip and twist my fingers in my lap. My heart is pounding. "I rebooked my ticket to come home just after the election." I don't tell him the project is scheduled to take six months.

"You're not going to be here for the election?" His voice gets really high.

I'm not sure if he's surprised I would voluntarily miss the biggest event in politics or if he's disappointed I'm staying in Italy.

"You know how much I want to be there, Josh, but I have to do this." I lower my head. "I have to do it for my grandmother."

The only sound I hear for the next 30 seconds is his steady breathing.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Take care of yourself, Donna."

This is what he does when things get too personal. In less than a minute, Josh has convinced himself he doesn't care if I stay in Italy. 

"I'm trying," I say.

"I have to go. Everyone's waiting."

"Ok," I say in a small voice. "I'll write to you soon." Maybe that's my little way of saying I'll be here for a while. That I can't call every other day because I can't afford it, so I'll write letters.

"Yeah. I'll see ya." With that, he hangs up.

***  
It's easy for my thoughts to drift to Josh over the next few weeks. Sometimes I read an article in the newspaper and wonder what Josh would think. The Corriere della Sera recently featured an editorial endorsing Vinick. I can imagine Josh's reaction to reading that Arnold Vinick is "the morally superior candidate with a keen interest in foreign affairs." He'd go on ad nauseum about the newspaper's limited research. He'd recite Congressman Santos' foreign relations policy, all the while pacing and running his hands through his hair.

Despite the equivalent of The New York Times endorsing the Republican candidate, I wonder if Josh would like Italians. I wonder if he'd consider living in Marlia "roughing it." 

I want to call him, but I don't want to upset him during the heavy campaigning. From our last conversation, he doesn't seem pleased I'm so far away. Still, I'm not sure what his feelings are even after our one night together. I decide to write to him daily while Maria and Vincent nap.

_Josh,_

_The past three weeks have been demanding, but I've gotten into a sort of routine. Every morning, I wake up at 6 a.m., have breakfast with Maria, Vincent and Sr. Catherine, then work on the hotel until noon. I never thought I'd learn how to float drywall, change an electrical socket or refinish antique furniture. Maria's even teaching me how to sew. I doubt I'll be making my own clothes any time soon, but sewing slipcovers is pretty easy._

_Despite the time of year, the sun is incredibly bright. I was sunburned the first two weeks, but now my face is bronze and my arms are getting darker. I never knew my alabaster skin could get this tan! I ran out of Clinique City Block, so I'm using Maria's homemade coconut and lime sunscreen._

_When I'm not working on the property or writing to you, I spend much of my time with the people of Marlia. Stella is teaching me Italian using teen magazines. I might not be able to ask, "How's the weather?" but I can say, "Siete caldi": you're hot._

_My friend Lucia, who reminds me of a flirtatious, somewhat licentious CJ, is teaching me how to cook. I might have mentioned she owns a restaurant in Marlia. We're starting with simple sauces such as pomodoro and bolognese. Next week, we're making risotto alla milanese – rice with saffron. I'll let you know when we get to costata – steak._

_Every night before going to sleep, I read a little more about my grandmother's life. Before she died, she reported for Public Radio International. I've contacted a Florentine radio station and asked if I could get a transcript of her reports. The last story she did was about American transplants' limited knowledge of the Italian political system. Apparently, most of these residents don't know Italy has a president and a prime minister. Sr. Catherine knows quite a bit about the Italian government, so I enjoy talking with her._

_It looks like I'm going to market day in Siena next week with Stella's family. There's a wine festival over the weekend. I can't wait to sample the region's best vino. Stella's father, Dante, is an oenophile, so I'm sure it will be educational._

_Maria is calling, so I have to go. Good luck next week. Siete caldi._

_Donna_


	4. Incrocio

We arrive at the Siena wine festival just before dinnertime. There are about 50 booths set up representing different wineries. There are another 20 with food vendors. In the far corner, there's a small stage where two women are strumming guitars and singing what sounds remarkably like an Italian version of the Indigo Girls.

Stella and Stefan run to the swing set and slides where there are several children laughing and playing. Anna and Dante have a short conversation, then Dante escorts me to a booth.

"The art of wine making." He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand.

In this large booth, there are vats and instruction manuals. A man greets us and asks if we'd like to learn about wine making. I nod.

"I will get some food. You enjoy this teaching and meet us over there." Dante points to a row of tables under a tree.

I have a difficult time understanding the wine maker, but his illustrations and props help. After 15 minutes, he leads me to booth number one: Roblio Vino Nobile di Montepulciano – the Noble wine. And when they say "noble," they mean it. I've never tasted a wine quite like this. The best way to describe it would be "buttery." It might not sound appealing, but it's incredible.

I make it to three tasting booths before spotting Dante and Anna at a table. I watch them cater to Stella and Stefan before making my way over there. 

Anna is patient. She allows Stefan to fuss about the food before seemingly striking a deal with him. She pats him on the back as he takes a large bite of pasta. Dante tends to Stella who by her own admission is a picky eater. He plays some kind of "guess the food" game with her. With her eyes shut, Stella eats everything her father serves. Once the kids are settled, Anna sits next to her husband and smiles.

The scene in front of me gets me thinking about raising children. Anna and Dante take care of their children selflessly – even if it means their food gets cold. It has to be hard work, but it's the most rewarding work anyone could possibly undertake.

I think about Josh with kids. Besides the two or three times he's interacted with Molly and Huck, I haven't seen Josh spend much time with children. I don't know if he even wants a family. I know I do. I lower my head in embarrassment. To think of Josh as a father is crazy. To think of him as the father of my children is ludicrous.

Stella pats the chair next to her. "Donnatella, sit here."

I sit next to the little girl and smile. I sample four different kinds of pasta and two types of pizza. There are also several types of breads and cheeses, as well as a bottle of wine.

"This is my favorite: Rosso di Montepulciano. Feel it on your tongue and at the back of your mouth. It's crisp and warm. It reminds me of autumn in Tuscany." I watch Dante swirl his glass and turn it toward the sun. Every sip he takes mirrors the first. 

Anna and the kids giggle when I try imitating Dante.

I wish Josh was here. I wish he could taste the food and wine. I know he'd appreciate it as much as I do. I think about him visiting me – the places I'd take him; the things we'd do. We'd spend an evening just like this – eating fabulous food and sipping fine wine. He'd tell me about his latest political victory. I'd watch his face light up. I'd tell him about sanding furniture and mispronouncing Italian words. He'd laugh, but he'd be intrigued and proud.

When we're finished eating, Dante takes me to two more booths, and I sample the wines. Even Napa Valley wine can't touch this. Not only does it taste better here, people genuinely appreciate it. Drinking wine in Italy is an event in its own right.

*  
We spend the night at an old farmhouse just outside of town. Dante and Anna put the children to bed, then join me on the veranda.

"You have been thinking of something all day," Anna says.

She startles me. "Oh, nothing in particular."

"A man, perhaps?" Anna elbows her husband.

I blush. "To some extent."

"Who is he?" She tilts her head.

I've never spoken with them about Josh, so I hesitate before divulging too much information. "A man I used to work with." I sigh. "A man who's hard at work at home and probably not thinking of me."

"Why do you say that, Donnatella?" Dante asks. "There is much to think about you."

I smile. "He's trying to get a man elected president." Not something, I'm sure, they expect to hear nor fully understand.

"Sounds like a big task," Anna says.

"Yes."

"Is he your lover?"

The word "lover" makes me choke. I don't know how to answer that question. If it was "do you want him to be your lover?" I'd have an answer.

"No," I respond. "He's a dear friend. My best friend, actually."

Dante squeezes Anna's hand. "If he knows you, Donnatella, truly knows you, I'd say it is more than that."

If only wishing made it so. "That's very kind of you, Dante."

Anna snuggles closer to her husband. 

I decide to give them some privacy. "It's getting late."

"Are you turning in?"

"Yes. Thank you for today. It was lovely."

I go to sleep with thoughts of Josh. Thoughts of him shaking hands with Dante while keeping an arm around me. Thoughts of him pouring a glass of wine and making a toast. Thoughts of him sharing my bed and stealing the covers. 

With a smile on my lips, I fall asleep.

***  
When I return from an incredible weekend in Siena, the first thing I see at Albergo Girasole is water spraying about five feet in the air.

"What the hell is going on?" I drop my suitcase on the walkway and jog toward the back of the main house.

"Il acqua tubo si e rotto!" Vincent yells.

"Vigilanza fuori!" Signore Bonura comes running up behind me. "Watch out!"

He makes quick work with what appears to be glue and some metal strips. In the process, he gets soaked. He shouts for Matteo, one of the workers. Matteo comes with more equipment, and within five minutes, the leak is patched.

"What happened here?" I ask, tucking my damp hair behind my ear.

"The plumbing is old and corroded. This is the second leak today," Signore Bonura responds, wiping his face with a red rag. "It is going to be more work than we thought."

I sigh. "More work, meaning more money?"

"No, signorina. Just more time."

Vincent scratches his head. "Il gabinetto non funziona. Non ci e acqua."

"Mi dispiace." Signore Bonura takes off his hat and lowers his head.

I look at Vincent. "Did you just say there's no water and the bathroom doesn't work?"

Signore Bonura nods. "Si, Donnatella. But only for a short time."

I put my hands on my hips. "Does Maria know about this?"

As if Vincent understood me, he looks to the sky and makes the sign of the cross.

"Great," I say under my breath.

Just then, Maria comes barreling out of the main house with a dish towel in her hand. “Che cosa sta accadendo?"

"The pipe broke," I say, pointing to the ground. "Water was squirting everywhere. Signore Bonura said we won't have water for a while."

Maria touches her forehead. "Quando potra ripararlo?"

"Potrebbe occorrere due giorni."

"Two days?" I ask. "Isn't there a plumber or someone you can call?"

"Un idraulico?" Signore Bonura laughs. "I am the plumber!"

Maria yells a few choice words at him, then puts her arm around me and leads me inside. "This is just the beginning, Donnatella."

I grab my bag and walk with her. "What do you mean?"

Maria sits in one of the newly slipcovered chairs. "Yesterday, Vincent dropped his toolbox on the floor." She points to a cracked tile. "Look."

"Oh," I say. "It probably just needs a sealant."

"I don't think it is a main concern, but it is right where guests walk in." She leans forward. "There is more. When I was mopping the floor upstairs, the handle hit the bedroom window." Maria lowers her head. "It is broken into a thousand pieces."

"Seriously?" I ask.

"It was an accident."

I put my hand over hers. "Don't worry about it. We'll get a new window pane."

"That is not all," she says.

I raise my eyebrows. "There's more?"

Maria nods. "We have no phone. The man from Empoli came to install your internet service. He said the box interferes with the telephone."

"The modem?"

She shrugs. "I don't know what is the box."

"So we don't have phone service?" I huff. "Did the man say when it would be fixed?"

"He said he was busy until tomorrow evening. He will come then."

I massage my temples. Despite my effort to appear unfazed, I don't know how to repair a broken window or seal a crack in the floor. I have no idea what to do if a modem interferes with the phone line. If I was in DC, I'd call Jimmy in tech support. Maria and Vincent cannot make decisions. They have hearts of gold, but when it comes to actually solving a problem, they freeze.

I put my head in my hands. "Anything else?"

"Well." Maria sighs. "Now we don't have water."

I let out an incredulous chuckle. "Great."

Maria is gripping her hands together so hard her knuckles are turning white.

"I'm not mad at you," I say.

"I'm so sorry, Donnatella." She looks like she's going to cry.

I kneel in front of her, taking her hands in mine. "It's not your fault. We'll go to Lucca and get a hotel room or stay with some friends here."

"Sr. Catherine said we can stay at the convent," Maria says.

I nod. "You and Vincent should stay there until the pipes are fixed. I need to go to Lucca."

She looks confused. "Why?"

"The presidential election is today. I need to watch the returns, and Marlia doesn't have CNN." I smile. "It's important to me."

Maria squeezes my hand.

After one more conversation with the contractor, I repack my suitcase and head to Lucca.

***  
Lucca is a walled city with limited automotive access, so I ride my grandmother's bike six miles into the city. It takes me two hours knocking on doors around the piazza to find a place that has access to the live returns. 

Apparently, CNN does not exist in Tuscany. They don't have CSPAN either. Not even the radio stations are broadcasting the election results – only an update every three hours. The only way to get full, real-time coverage is through streaming video on the internet. 

Fortunately, I find a small bed and breakfast with streaming capability.

"I have been asked many questions about this property, but this is a new one." The owner smiles.

"It must sound odd." I tuck my hair behind my ear. "Today is the American presidential election."

"Ah, I lived in Chicago for nine months. My wife and I went to school there." He unplugs the laptop. "We still follow American politics."

I smile. "Then you know this is an important day."

"Yes." He closes the laptop and pushes it toward me. "Perhaps this is your lucky day."

"Really?" I put my hand on my chest.

"We have wireless internet access. Just got it last month. It is very popular with our guests."

I touch his arm. "I can't thank you enough."

The owner escorts me to a small table and shows me how to get online. I offer to pay extra for the use of his computer. He declines but asks if he can borrow it if a guest needs to check-in.

***  
At 9 p.m. (3 p.m. in DC) I try calling Josh, but I get his voicemail. We haven't spoken in more than a week. Things felt awkward then, like we were on different ground. The election is the most important thing to him right now. While I've thought about it often, it isn't as important to me as it has been in the past. Part of that is directly related to the limited access I have to campaign coverage. I don't know what's happening with the campaign unless I speak with Josh or read an article in the newspaper. He and I have always shared a sense of urgency concerning politics, so not having that feeling this time around is a bit disconcerting. 

I decide to go for a brief walk to pass the time and clear my head.

It bothers me that I don't know if Josh is in DC or Houston. If he's in DC, he must've received most of my letters by now. If he's in Houston, there's a chance he doesn't even know I've written. 

For the past month, I've felt like I've been chasing Josh. I'm ready for things to be somewhat normal. I want to be able to call him when he's in his office or having drinks with Toby. If Congressman Santos wins, he'll appoint Josh as Chief of Staff. While he may be even busier than he was as deputy, at least he'll be stable.

I pull my jacket tighter around my body. It's gotten colder here. The leaves have started falling from the trees. The grapes no longer hang from their vines. Italian children aren't playing soccer against the duomo. Life seems to slow down in the winter.

I reach for my cell phone and try calling Josh again, but it goes directly to voicemail. Once again, I don't leave a message. Instead, I hang up and call CJ.

I'm surprised when she answers.

"Donna!" she yells.

"How'd you know it was me?" I smile.

"Do they not have caller ID in Italy?" It's extremely loud wherever she is.

"What's going on? Where are you?" I ask.

"We're all in DC. Where are you?" I picture her with a finger plugged in her ear.

"I'm in a small town in Tuscany. It was the only place I could find that has access to the live returns." I sit on a bench outside the bed and breakfast.

"I wish I was in Tuscany right now," she says.

"And miss all the action?"

"I'm not a huge fan of the action. I like quick results, and this day seems to drag on and on."

"But it's what you live for," I respond.

"Not me," she says. "I live for fine wine and good men. It's your other half who lives for this stuff."

It shocks me that CJ would refer to Josh as my other half. On second thought, maybe she doesn't mean Josh.

"Josh?"

She laughs. "Yes, Josh. He's out of control."

"You're with him?" My heart starts beating rapidly.

"I'm looking at him right now. He's across the room, talking to Toby."

I've had bouts of homesickness, but this is the worst it's been. I long to be there with my friends. "I tried calling him earlier, but he didn't answer."

"Are you kidding? I don't know if his cell is even on. Everyone he needs is in this room."

My heart plummets.

"That's not what I meant," CJ quickly amends. "Everyone on the Congressman's staff is here, including Santos himself."

"I know what you meant. It's ok, CJ." I try sounding lighthearted, but I have a feeling I fail. Tears sting my eyes.

"He misses you, Donna. We all do."

I lower my head. "I miss you guys too. I wish I was there."

"Wanna trade?" I can almost see her smiling.

I sigh. "Right now? Yeah. That would be nice."

"I want to talk with you more, but now's probably not the best time," CJ says.

"Yeah." I stand and start walking toward the door. "I just wanted to wish you guys luck and let you know I'm thinking about you."

"Thank you. Do you want me to get Josh?"

Every part of me wants CJ to get Josh, but he's in a zone right now. I don't want to be the cause of his losing focus. "That's ok. I'll probably talk to him tomorrow."

"I want to visit soon."

I smile. "I'd love that."

"Thanks for calling. Miss you!" 

Once she hangs up, I have a physical pain in my chest. I put my hand over my heart and steady my breathing. Knowing all of my friends are in the same room in DC makes me both glad and depressed. I'm glad they have each other, but I want to be with them. I want to celebrate a victory or commiserate a loss.

"Are you ok, signorina?" the owner asks.

"I'm fine." I give him a small smile. 

I sit in front of the computer again and look at the returns. I have to focus my thoughts on something else. The only surprise so far is Pennsylvania went to Vinick, but we got the rest of New England.

Over the next four hours, I alternate between watching the live returns and pacing. I wonder if Josh is doing the same. It's hard for me not to call him every time a state is called for Santos. 

I have a vivid picture in my mind of him right now. I'm sure his sleeves are rolled up and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck. He's probably worn the same suit two days in a row, which means he's a wrinkled mess. I'm sure there are small bite marks on his lower lip, and his hair is standing almost straight up. More than likely, he hasn't shaved in a couple of days, so he's probably sporting a barely visible beard. I love Josh's facial hair; it's almost blond. I doubt he could ever grow a full beard, which adds to his boyish charm.

At 2 a.m., it's still an incredibly tight race. In fact, it's too close to call. We're still waiting on the West Coast, New Mexico, Iowa and Florida. I wouldn't be surprised if I have another two-hour wait ahead of me. I put my head on the table for a minute and close my eyes.

I have no idea how much time passes when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Signorina, you fell asleep," the owner says. "You were mumbling, so I thought I'd wake you. Perhaps you'd like to go to your room now?"

I lift my head not realizing how sore my neck would be. "Mi dispace. Che ora e?"

"Ah, parlate italiano?"

"Not really." I crease my brow, confused at my choice of language. "I'm not sure why I said that." I look at my watch. "Is it really 4:30 in the morning?"

"Yes. I'll have breakfast ready in an hour and a half."

"Thank you. I'll just finish up with the computer and head to my room." 

I refresh cnn.com and wait for the election results to pop up. I rub my eyes and focus on the hourglass on the computer screen. Three seconds later, I see in big bold letters: Matthew Santos Elected President.

My hands fly to my chest and I smile widely. He did it. Josh got a virtually unknown Latino man elected President of the United States. My eyes fill with tears.

"Congressman Santos was elected," I yell. "We have the next President of the United States!"

"Very good," the owner says from behind the desk. "I like him."

"Me too," I whisper. I let out a long sigh of relief. I don't care what time it is, I need to call Josh.

My fingers shake as I hit speed dial. I lick my lips in anticipation. The phone rings four times before his voicemail picks up. I feel somewhat deflated. This time, I'm going to leave a message.

"I can't believe it, Josh: President Matt Santos. Wow." I pause. "I don't think 'congratulations' is enough. Not with the amount of time and energy you put in. I hope you're drinking from a keg of glory. Wish I was there."

I hang up the phone, thank the owner for the use of his computer, and trek upstairs to my room. It's only 10:30 p.m. in DC, so I'm sure Josh is celebrating somewhere. I tuck my cell phone under my pillow and put it on "loud plus vibrate" just in case.

***  
My pillow starts vibrating at 10 a.m. I reach for my cell phone. "Hello?"

"You're lucky we won."

I rub a hand over my face. "Josh?"

"Yes?"

"Hi." I'm too groggy to say anything else.

"Hi." I haven't heard his 'sweet voice' in more than a month. "I'm basking in the glow." The sweetness is now replaced by the cockiness.

"Wait a minute," I say, creasing my brow. "Did you just say *I* was lucky you won?"

"Yeah," he responds. "You are." I picture him smirking.

"How do you figure?" I sit up in bed.

"You didn't vote."

"I did vote, Josh. I completed an absentee ballot."

I hear running water. "Are you sure you voted for the right candidate this time?" 

"Yes," I respond, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder.

"Good cause you're in another country and I couldn't, you know, make your life a living hell."

I smile. "One of the many perks of being abroad."

He chuckles. "How are you?" The sweet voice is back.

"Relatively good." I brush my hair out of my face. "I don't want to discuss me. Let's talk about President Matthew Santos."

I'm sure he's grinning. "I like the way that sounds."

"So do I." I prop my back against a stack of pillows. "How does it feel?"

"Great. Better than great...I'm tired, but it's euphoric." He releases a long breath.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. "It's like 4 in the morning there."

"Yes."

"Are you just getting in?"

"Long night of celebration." It sounds like he's brushing his teeth.

"Were you with CJ and Toby?"

"Yeah. I think they're both going to work for us, or at least for Leo."

"Did Toby need some convincing?"

"He didn't commit to anything yet. He was talking about moving back to New York, but over the past couple of weeks, he's kind of changed his tune."

"Because of the kids?"

"I'm sure that's part of it." I hear his mattress creak. "I think he finally sees something in Congr...President Santos."

"It does sound nice." I smile. "Are you in bed?"

"I am now."

"So am I."

"Oh really?" he asks in a flirtatious tone.

I blush. "Josh."

He sighs. "If I don't get some sleep, I'm not going to make it through the day."

"True." I pull the covers over my legs. "Congratulations, Josh."

"Thank you."

I want to tell him I wish I was there or he was here. I want to ask him to visit me soon. I want him to tell me he misses me.

"I got your letters," he says after a long bout of silence.

I'm shocked he's bringing it up. "Yeah?"

"Five of them, actually." I hear him shuffling papers. "Looks like you're enjoying Italy."

"I am." I feel like no matter what my answer is, Josh will feel slighted; like I'm choosing Italy over him. "Things have gone a bit awry over the past couple of days. Other than that, it's good."

"Just 'good'? From your letters, it sounds like it's better than good." There's something, some emotion he's trying to cover up. "You loved Florence."

"I did. Marlia is great, too. The renovations are just going a bit slower than I anticipated."

I hear him stirring in bed. "Are you staying until they're done?"

"I kind of have to."

"You really don't," he says.

"Well, I want to. I should do this for my grandmother. Besides, I'm starting to see progress, and it feels good. Like I've accomplished something." Those words roll out of my mouth, and before I can take them back, I fear I've sent a message to Josh that Italy _is_ more important than him.

"It's fine. I get it."

"Josh." I sigh.

"No, really. It's fine, Donna." He pauses. "I gotta get some sleep."

"Yeah." I hope he hears the frustration in my voice. "I gave you the number to Albergo Girasole in one of those letters."

"I think I saw it." I hear a lamp switch off.

"Ok."

"Have a good one. I'm gonna, you know, sleep."

"Sleep well," I whisper.

"Bye."

I miss Josh so much there's an ache in my chest. Before I came to Italy, I had no idea I'd feel this way. I knew I'd miss him, but not to the degree of physical pain. I miss his ego, his mind, his laugh, his dimples, his eyes, his walk. I miss the way he held me the night we had sex. He was much more gentle than I expected. He was also much more satisfied with himself than I expected. Scratch that: he was exactly as satisfied with himself as I thought he'd be.

I bury my head in the pillow and sigh. I have to get out of bed and stop pining for Josh. Besides, I doubt he's pining for me.


	5. Incrocio

I sit impatiently in a metal chair as I wait for my name to be called. I'm nervous.

It's been exactly two months and 28 days since I've been in Italy. I've had this appointment for two weeks, but it hasn't sunk in until this moment: I'm becoming an Italian resident. I twist my fingers together and take deep breaths. Josh doesn't know about this step in the process. After I apply, I promise myself I'll call him and explain.

"Signorina Moss?" a woman with a clipboard asks.

I nod.

"Follow me."

She hands me the application I'd previously completed along with two more forms. "Occorrerà una settimana per procedere la vostra applicazione."

"One week?" I ask.

"Si. Li denomineremo."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't quite get that."

She smiles. "We will call you when the permit has been assigned."

"That's it?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Grazie." I shake her hand.

When I exit the police station, I exhale. I walk to the nearest restaurant and sit at a table outside. Despite the chill in the air, it's a beautiful day.

The waiter asks for my order.

"Vorrei un caffe, per favore," I say.

He returns a minute later with an espresso.

As I flip through the documents the woman at the police station gave me, I feel like I'm doing all of this behind Josh's back. The guilt is eating me up inside. 

However, I'm beginning to resent the position Nonna put me in. She didn't know me or what my life was like in the US. I don't understand why she chose me as the guardian of her property. There are at least ten reliable people in Marlia who could've renovated Albergo Girasole. In fact, they would've been honored.

While I've made significant progress on the renovations, it has been frustrating. I have to pay bills and communicate with businesses in a language I'm only just beginning to understand. The only time I truly have to myself is at night. Even then I'm not always alone. Albergo Girasole is a meeting place in Marlia. People come at all hours of the day and night. Maria and Vincent don't seem to mind. In fact, I think they enjoy the company. They tell stories of the way things used to be. They tell me how much my grandmother helped Marlia's economy.

My cell phone rings. It's Josh's number, which is a bit surprising considering it's only 6 am in DC.

"Hello?"

"Did you get it yet?" he asks.

Josh sent me a letter a few days ago, and for whatever reason, he's anxious for me to receive it. It's the first letter he's written since I've been in Italy.

"I'm in Florence. I'll check the mail later today."

"What are you doing in Florence?" It sounds like he's in a restaurant.

"What are you doing calling me at six in the morning?" I need to tell him about the resident permit, but butterflies are swarming in my stomach.

"I'm meeting my mom for breakfast."

"Your mom's in town?" I haven't spoken to Miriam in at least five months. I miss talking to her.

"Only for a couple of nights. She flew in yesterday."

To be with Josh and his mother..."Please give her my best." The butterflies in my stomach are even more ferocious. Still, I have to tell him.

"I will," he says.

"The reason I'm in Florence, Josh, is because I had to apply for a resident permit." I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

"A what?" It sounds like the phone is closer to his mouth, making his voice almost menacing.

"A resident permit." I swallow hard. "Italian law requires any tourist who stays here three months or longer to apply for a permesso di soggiorno – a resident permit. It doesn't mean I'm staying here indefinitely." I wish I wouldn't have said that last line.

"Indefinitely?"

I put my head in my hands. "NOT indefinitely."

"Wow," he says as if ignoring my statement. "At least you're a law-abiding Italian resident." There's disdain in his voice. Josh has been disappointed and even upset with me when we've spoken on the phone, but he's never sounded mad.

"I'm coming home on December 21," I say, hoping to move into more positive territory.

"What for?"

"To get things in order. I have to repay CJ for all of the bills she's taken care of for me. I need to meet with my landlord and go to the bank." I take a deep breath. "I need to see you."

He remains silent.

"Josh?"

"My mom just got here. I'll see you in a few weeks."

I can't even say "goodbye" before he hangs up. 

I feel nauseous. Josh has waited and waited for me to announce my coming home, and now that I've done so, he's upset. 

Part of me wants to say to hell with this renovation project. I don't need the $2 million. It wouldn't take much for me to find a job in DC. I could work two jobs if I had to make ends meet. I could also rent a cheaper apartment or live in a studio. At this moment, I don't want my inheritance. I don't want to be in Italy.

***  
December in Marlia is only slightly warmer than December in DC. The atmosphere is similar as well – Christmas lights, nativity scenes and images of Santa Claus. Every Saturday night in the piazza, a group of Christmas carolers serenades visitors. Tonight, Stella and Stefan's school group is singing.

"Fretta, Donnatella," Maria calls from outside the cottage. She's started speaking to me in Italian more.

I open the door. "Patience, Maria. I'm just getting my coat."

"Stiamo andando essere in ritardo." She uses her hands to rush me along.

"Distendasi. We won't be late." I close the door and take Maria's arm. "Lucia is picking us up."

When Lucia arrives in her convertible, Maria complains for a solid five minutes about her hair getting messed up. Vincent tells her she'll be beautiful no matter what her hair looks like. Sr. Catherine offers her habit. We all laugh.

Once we arrive at the piazza, I spot the Raguzzi family. They offer us hot chocolate and fig cookies while we wait for Stella and Stefan to sing.

Lucia pulls me aside. "Have you bought your plane ticket yet?"

"I rebooked my original ticket for the second time. It cost almost as much as a new ticket though." I sip my hot chocolate. "I leave in two days."

"Are you excited to go home?"

"Part of me is." I shrug. "The other part is scared."

"Scared of what?" She nudges my arm. "Seeing Josh?"

I've talked to Lucia many times about Josh. She's very observant. She often catches me staring into space or smiling without provocation. When she asks me what I'm thinking, I reply honestly.

"We've spoken fairly often since I've been in Italy." I sigh. " I don't know. It's weird. I haven't seen him in three months." 

"That's a long time," she says.

"Until now, the longest I'd gone without seeing him was two weeks. When we worked together, it was three days." I pull my coat tightly around my body.

"I'm sure he still looks the same."

Visions of Josh dance in my head. I wonder if he's lost or gained weight. If he started running again. If he cut his hair.

"I'm sure," I reply.

"Does he know your plan? That you're staying in Marlia?"

I look at Lucia. "I told him about the permit. I didn't tell him one of the reasons I'm going home is to get a visa."

"Better to tell him in person?" she asks.

I lower my head. "Probably not."

Lucia giggles.

"Josh doesn't do well with change." I give her a half-smile.

"Most men don't."

"True." I sigh. "But Josh isn't 'most men'. He's ten times worse."

She puts her arm around my shoulders. "Yet he's still il vostra dolce."

I smile. "Whatever you say."

Stella and Stefan sing five Christmas songs, one of which is in English. I helped Stefan learn the words. He practiced with me every day for a week. Watching him sing in English makes me proud.

When the caroling is done, we huddle together on the patio at Lucia's restaurant. We eat tiramisu and drink Prosecco.

These people have become my family. I watch them laugh, sing and dance. They all have joy on their faces – even Lucia. The anniversary of her husband's death is in three days. She and I shared a couple bottles of wine the other night, and I listened to stories about Ricardo. He wasn't very similar to Josh, but Lucia's love for him is like mine. We both wish these men would come to us. Trouble is, her husband cannot.

I'm always conscientious when it comes to talking about Josh. I don't want Lucia to feel uncomfortable. As far as I know, she never does. She asks me questions about our lives together before I came to Italy. It's refreshing to have someone with whom to share my thoughts.

When I've eaten the last bite of tiramisu, Stefan approaches me. "You taught me how to sing this song. Now you must sing for everyone."

I shake my head. "You sing so well, Stefan. You don't want me ruining it."

He pulls my hand until I stand. "That will not do."

"Silent Night," Stefan announces, "will be sung by Stella, Stefan and the incredible Donnatella!"

Everyone claps.

I barely make it through the song without laughing or crying. The children are on either side of me, holding my hands. Dante's arm is around Anna's waist; Vincent's hand is on Maria's arm; and Lucia is swaying to the song with a glass of wine in her hand at the back of the room. I thank God the words are automatic because the scene in front of me is too emotional for me to think right now.

When we're finished, everyone cheers, including the patrons who aren't with our party.

Over the next hour, everything winds down. The kids rest their tired heads on the table, and the adults finish a bottle of limoncello. Maria, Vincent and I decide to walk home.

I am terribly conflicted. Tonight was magical. I feel closer to the people of Marlia than I've ever felt. No matter if I end up staying here for two more months or two more years, these people make Italy feel like home. However, I miss celebrating the Christmas joy with my friends at home. It was right about now when I'd start guessing what Josh got me for Christmas. Sometimes I felt like a child waiting for Santa Claus. No matter what he gave me, I could tell he'd put quite a bit of thought into it.

In two short days, I'll have a clearer understanding of where I belong. For the first time, as I fall asleep, my thoughts are in Italian.

***  
Over the past two days, Signore Bonura, Maria, Vincent, and I work double time to get Albergo Girasole spruced up for Lorenzo Gregorio's visit. After applying one last coat of varnish to a wooden bench, I take a quick shower. 

The hot water combined with the water pressure, feels amazing. My back is killing me from weeding the walkway, scrubbing the veranda, and removing the shutters from the front of the hotel. I also have specks of light blue paint stuck on my skin from painting the shutters. No amount of scrubbing removes three of the specks. 

Vincent hurt his wrist when he was washing the windows, so over the past two days, I've been forced to do much of the labor myself. I'm thankful he didn't fall off the ladder – it's happened once already.

"Donnatella, they are here," Maria says while pounding on my bathroom door. I have to remember to repair the lock to the cottage. This isn't the first time Maria's walked in.

"I'll be right there," I yell in response. I quickly dry off and dress, cursing that I wasn't able to enjoy a longer shower. 

I notice a shiny Fiat in the driveway. Lorenzo gets out of the passenger side. The driver must be the appraiser.

"Buongiorno, Donnatella," Lorenzo says. The two times I've seen Lorenzo, he was wearing a suit. Today he's in jeans and a black shirt with a matching suede jacket.

"Buongiorno, Signore Gregorio." I shake his hand. My hair is dripping wet. It's making me quite cold.

"I have told you – call me Lorenzo, per favore," he says with a grin. "This is Franco Mazzolini, the appraiser."

Franco looks like Count Dracula. His jet black hair is slicked back and he's wearing a cape. His cheeks are rosy and his eye teeth are pointed. I would not want to be alone in the dark with this man.

"My English is a bit rough, please excuse me." He shakes my hand. "So this is Albergo Girasole?"

"Yes," I reply. "We've been renovating it for three months now, but we still have at least three more to go."

Franco flips his cape and looks around. "I've seen pictures from long ago." His voice is so soft I can barely hear him.

Lorenzo begins walking toward the main house. I follow close behind.

"We're doing our best to restore the hotel to its former glory. The contractor, who's inside with the caretakers, has studied the drawings and photographs closely," I say.

"I'm surprised your Bougainvillea is still in bloom." Lorenzo touches a magenta flower. "Mine is resting for the winter."

I smile. "I pruned it about a month ago. It took me two days, but I think it paid off."

Franco nods. "Would you mind if we walked around the property?"

"Of course," I say. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Lorenzo looks at Franco. "We're fine."

As we walk around the property, I imagine what everything would look like through Josh's eyes. I wonder if he'd notice the painted shutters or the new windows. Would he discover the patched hole on the west side of the house, or the freshly varnished outdoor furniture, or the rebuilt chimney stack? Would he fully understand and appreciate that I did much of these renovations on my own?

It doesn't bother me that he probably wouldn't pay much attention to the exterior of the house. He's never taken any interest in architecture or gardening. He couldn't identify Greco-Roman style from Tudor-Gothic, nor could he tell the difference between impatiens and pansies. Before I came to Italy, I couldn't either.

After a slow lap around the house, Lorenzo suggests we go inside.

I introduce Signore Bonura, Maria, and Vincent. Franco dramatically sweeps off his cape and shakes it a few times as if he's about to fold linen. They spend about 45 minutes discussing the property in Italian. I understand much of what they're saying, and it's all positive. Even Franco laughs.

"We must tell you, Donnatella, you exceeded our expectations," Lorenzo says.

"What you've done is remarkable," Franco adds. He stands and ties his cape around his neck. "You may have a career in restoration by the time you're done."

I smile from ear to ear. "Molte grazie."

Lorenzo hands me a check for $10,000. "Your grandmother would want you to have this."

I've never been given a check for over $3,000. I ran out of money a month ago and have at least ten "I owe you's" to my friends in Marlia. I haven't bought anything for myself since my first trip to Florence, and that was only essential clothing. I'm dying for some bubble bath and a few candles.

The first thing I'm going to do with this money is pay my debt. I'll keep a healthy chunk to give to CJ as reimbursement for paying my bills. I should still have at least $1,000 left. Five hundred will go in the bank, and with the other $500, I'm going to splurge.

"Thank you, Lorenzo. I could really use this right now." I fold the check, then shake his hand.

"We'll return three months from now when the project is complete. Until then, have a merry Christmas and a blessed New Year."

I hug Lorenzo, which seems to shock him a bit. "Same to you."

I shake Franco's hand, but he pulls me in for a hug as well. It's a genuine hug, and it doesn't freak me out. I think Franco is just eccentric. And quite possibly gay.

*  
After Lorenzo and Franco leave, a messenger arrives with a package for me. I rip it open and notice two CDs with the Public Radio International logo.

Maria peers over my shoulder. "Che cos e quello?"

I flip the CDs over. "I think these are recordings from Nonna's broadcasts on PRI."

"The news reports?" she asks.

I nod. "I'll be back." I take the two CDs to the cottage and insert them into my portable CD player.

I was too young to remember what my grandmother's voice sounded like, so this is surreal. She sounds more like an American with an Italian accent instead of the reverse. The CDs are in Italian, so I have to rewind them frequently to understand what she's reporting.

There are three segments on each disc. The first three are a series of interviews Nonna did with Italians about switching from the lira to the euro. From what I gather, the currency switch was a hot topic, and Italians were resistant to the change. 

The second disc is a series of interviews with American transplants and their knowledge of the Italian political system. I find this disc far more fascinating. I make a mental note to ask Stella to help me transcribe the discs. 

What I'm most interested in is Nonna's line of questioning. I replay the second disc three times, but the fourth time, I pretend to be the interviewer. Maybe it's just because I've heard the interviews three times, but I swear I'd have asked the same questions my grandmother asked. She didn't go for the common questions; rather, she took the interviews a step further until the American transplants seemed almost guilty for not understanding Italian government. After she established the guilt, she asked them how active they were in American politics. What my grandmother was getting at, I believe, was how apathetic Americans are when it comes to government.

God, how I wish I could've known this woman. Once Stella transcribes the discs for me, I'll send them to Josh. If anyone can appreciate my grandmother's methods, it's him.

***  
Maria is following me around like a puppy as I pack for my trip. She keeps telling me what to bring and taking things out of my suitcase. I think she's nervous I won't come back.

"Maria, you have to stop this," I finally say. "I'll be gone four nights. I'll be back before you know it."

She sits on my bed. "But you talk always of home and how you miss your friends."

"I miss my life in DC." I stop packing and look at her. "You know that. I'm not going to pretend I don't."

She lowers her head.

"But I'm committed to this project – to staying in Marlia – until things are back to normal."

"We need you, Donnatella." Maria looks up at me. "You have brought life back to Albergo Girasole."

This brings tears to my eyes. I've never truly known how I stood with Maria. She's a hard woman, not someone who is easily pleased. I've hoped for her blessing since I got here.

I bend down to her eye level. "Thank you for saying that, Maria."

She takes my hand. "Sofia would be so proud."

"I hope so."

Maria embraces me, and I can hardly breathe. I love this woman's hugs.

"You finish packing." She stands and straightens her frock. "Vincent and I will go to Mass. Lucia will be here soon to take you to the airport."

I touch her arm. "I'll see you in four days."

"Enjoy your trip, Donnatella." 

I know she means it.


	6. Incrocio

When the pilot announces our initial descent into Dulles, my stomach flutters. Everything has been automatic until this point: reserving the ticket, packing, coordinating an airport pick-up with CJ. I haven't really thought about what seeing my friends and my apartment is going to do to me. It feels like years since I've been home. Campaigning for Vice President Russell kept me on the road for a few months, so I haven't really spent much time in DC over the past year.

My mind was on overdrive during the ten-hour flight. I thought about how much I've changed since my move to Italy. I've become a stronger woman – stoic even. I've become more outspoken and less willing to compromise. I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing.

When I think of Josh, my palms sweat and my heart goes into my throat. Physically, I'm sure he hasn't changed as much as I have. However, I don't know what his mental state is right now. The last time he put a man in office, I was by his side. I knew his mood just by the way he walked into the office in the morning. He usually swaggered insufferably, indicating he was in a good mood. On occasion, the swagger was replaced by slumped shoulders or a brooding expression. It took me only seconds to know how to handle Josh on those days. I doubt I still have that ability.

*  
My suitcase is the last one to roll off the conveyor belt, and I fear CJ's been circling the airport for hours. I step outside and see her familiar vintage Mustang. 

She starts honking and sticks her hand out of the window to wave. "Donna!"

Like I didn't see her with all of that commotion.

I wave at her as she pulls up to the curb. "Hi, CJ!"

She jumps out of the car and embraces me. I squeeze just as hard as she does.

"It's so good to see you," she says against my shoulder.

I pull back and smile. "You, too."

I throw my suitcase in the trunk and hop into the passenger seat. CJ speeds off.

"Look at you," she says. "Your hair –"

Suddenly I feel self-conscious. "I ran out of styling products about a month ago."

"You look fantastic! I had no idea it was this wavy." She touches my hair. "And it's even blonder. Or are you just that tan?"

"I haven't even noticed, really." And I haven't. I spend exactly zero time on my appearance in Marlia. Not putting on makeup or blow drying my hair every day has become such a habit that I didn't even consider doing either before my trip. Perhaps I should've paid more attention to my appearance. After all, most women in DC look like they've stepped right out of a L'Oreal ad.

"Enough about me. I want to hear about you."

She sighs. "I'm all geared up for round three."

"How's President Santos?"

"He's great. They're all great." CJ glances at me. "That's why I couldn't say no."

"Did you want to? I mean, did you think about leaving politics?" I tuck my hair behind my ear.

"Yes, I did." She pauses. "I had one foot out of the door. Josh convinced me to stay four more years."

The mention of his name causes my breath to catch in my throat. "What if President Santos stays for eight?"

She shrugs. "I guess I'll cross that bridge later."

I smile. Being with CJ feels incredibly comfortable. "Before I forget," I say, "I have a blank check with your name on it. Thanks for taking care of my bills, CJ."

"It was no big deal, honestly." She waves me off.

"I also brought you two bottles of Italian wine. You can't buy it in the States." I smile.

"Now *that* I'm interested in!" She chuckles.

"I've learned more than I ever thought possible about wine." I pull a bottle from my carry on bag to show her the label. "It's Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, the finest wine in Tuscany."

CJ eyes the bottle, then me.

"I have a friend, Dante, who's an oenophile," I explain.

"What kind of friend?" She wiggles her eyebrows.

"Not the kind you're thinking of." I blush. I haven't even thought of a man other than Josh since my move. Actually, I haven't thought of anyone but Josh in years.

"I'm sure you've made lots of friends in Italy," she replies.

I nod. "It's been...transformational. The people, the countryside, the work."

She puts her hand on my knee. "Whatever it is, it certainly agrees with you."

I smile. "Thank you, CJ."

We pull into a parking space within the White House gates. Memories come flooding back to me: the Stackhouse filibuster; Supreme Court appointments; pieces of the ceiling falling on Josh's desk; my diary; Gaza; creating jokes for the Correspondent's Dinner; Yo Yo Ma's performance; the inaugurations; Rosslyn; the turkey pardons; lemonlyman.com; Zoey's kidnapping; Toby's children; the lock down.

Red lights.

"Are you ok?" CJ asks.

She startles me. "Yeah. I just had the strongest rush of memories."

She squeezes my arm and gives me a small smile. "Ready?"

I nod.

The security guard remembers me, which is somewhat refreshing. Still, I have to sign in with an appointment and get a visitor's pass. 

We walk down the familiar corridor in what feels like slow motion. The building smells musky – like an old library with leather-bound books. It brings back another rush of memories: late nights in evening gowns; Josh's bow tie; stale coffee; muffins from the Mess; take-out food; moose meat; receptions; state dinners.

I try focusing on the present. Too many memories will make me depressed. "How's the transition been?"

"Seamless so far," CJ responds. "A few people on the Santos staff spend two or three days a week here and the rest at headquarters just a couple of miles down the street. I've been doing double duty lately, but I spend the majority of my time as Chief of Staff." She stops before we head into the Communications bullpen. "Who do you want to see first?"

I shrug. "Doesn't matter. I'm excited to see everyone." 

But if we could please find Josh as soon as possible so I don't feel as if I'm going to hurl all over the marble floors from nervousness, that would be spectacular.

"Let's see who we run into along the way." She smiles.

There are several faces I don't recognize, but many I do. I stop and chat with a few of the assistants. I inquire about Carol, Margaret, Bonnie and Ginger. They're apparently wandering the halls or quite possibly in the Mess.

"Donna?" I hear a familiar voice behind me. Not the voice I hear in my dreams, but familiar nonetheless.

I turn around. "Toby."

He walks briskly toward me, then throws his arms around my neck. His hug is fierce, but it lasts mere seconds before he pulls back and straightens his tie. I don't think he has ever hugged me as long as I've known him.

"I heard you were coming to town," he says, trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

Toby lost weight. He looks very good.

"You heard correctly," I reply. "How've you been? How are the kids?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Fine and great."

"That's good to hear." I smile.

First he tries leaning casually against the wall, then he straightens his posture. Toby has always worn his nerves on his sleeve. "How's Italy?"

"Spectacular."

"I've seen pictures of the renovations." He grins. "Impressive."

Josh has shown the pictures I sent him to Toby? Interesting. 

"Thanks. It's taking a long time, but it feels good to accomplish something with my hands." 

"I'm sure." He seems to relax just a bit. "How long are you here?"

"Just a few days."

"I hope we can catch up later." Toby touches my elbow and looks into my eyes. He has a way of conveying emotion with his eyes. But in typical Toby fashion, the moment is gone within seconds. "Maybe you can leak some classified Italian intelligence."

I smile widely. "Definitely."

Toby and CJ have a brief conversation while I regain my composure. I've always felt a connection to him, despite his gruffness. He's a gentle soul. Toby sees things that others miss or neglect, like my affection for Josh. I think Toby has known from the beginning.

I remember one time years ago, Josh and I were working late. Toby entered Josh's office and found us in a somewhat intimate setting. I'd dropped a binder in front of Josh's desk, so he'd helped me pick up the hundred or so pages scattered on the floor. Instead of going back to business as usual, Josh plopped down with his back against the desk and grabbed his beer from the edge. I sat next to him, taking a long sip. Our legs were outstretched, and it may have appeared to Toby that we were playing footsies. In reality, we'd both just taken our shoes off and were stretching our feet. When Toby walked in, Josh was resting the beer and his forearm on my thigh. It was the only time I'd ever seen Toby blush.

"Shall we make our way to my office?" CJ asks.

"Sure." 

When we approach my old desk, I stop. I look through the partition and see everything arranged the same way. There's even one of my old relics on the side of a filing cabinet: "If you think education is expensive, try ignorance." I blink back tears. 

I feel CJ's hand on my arm. "Donna?"

I let out a long breath and look at her.

She tilts her head. "You ok?"

"Yeah." I lie.

I walk three steps forward and peek into Josh's old office. No one is in it, which I'm grateful for; otherwise, I'd have been faced with Cliff Calley. I've been over Cliff and the diary incident for years, but I'd rather not have a conversation with him right now.

Cliff has moved Josh's desk and computer, so the office is almost unrecognizable as having once belonged to Josh. His pictures and even the coat rack are gone. I touch the door frame and bite my lip.

I wonder if it upsets Josh that Cliff now occupies his old position and office. I wonder if he avoids the bullpen altogether. I also wonder where Josh is right now. Is he arguing with a Republican? Is he in a meeting? Is he thinking of me?

Once my emotions are in check, I follow CJ down the corridor. We finally make it to her office after having stopped twice to say hello to Larry and Ed and another group of assistants. 

I sit in the visitor's chair.

"Can I get you a glass of water? Some coffee?" 

"Maybe some water." My mouth is dry. "Is Leo or the President around?"

CJ hands me a bottle of water. "I'm sure they're in the building. Probably in the same meeting as Josh."

The butterflies return. I can picture Josh sitting in the Roosevelt Room, legs shaking back and forth, elbows spread on the table, voice becoming high-pitched.

"What do you think?" CJ asks, holding her hands in front of me. She flips them over a few times. "Is it too much?"

I'm assuming she's talking about her well-manicured, light pink fingernails. CJ always used to bite her nails. She'd admire mine, wishing hers looked as nice. I'd tell her I was only blessed with two things: nice nails and soft hair.

"Are they real?"

"They're acrylic. Don't tell anyone." She flexes her fingers.

I smile. "I promise."

"What happened to yours?" She grabs my left hand and examines my nails. "Did they get caught in a lawn mower?"

"Manual labor." I laugh. "There aren't exactly any spas in Marlia."

"What are we looking at?"

I whip around to see Josh standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. It takes me a few seconds to process this moment. We're finally in the same room together. My heart pounds in my chest. I swallow hard.

"Hey," I say in my best casual tone. I try standing, but my legs aren't working. I straighten my posture and remain seated.

"Hey." Josh's voice cracks.

His hair is longer, which probably means he hasn't had time to cut it since before the election. He has on a suit I don't recognize, but it fits him well. The last time I saw Josh, his pants were hanging off his hips. It appears he's gained some weight. He looks healthier. His red and ivory tie hangs loosely around his neck. I'm not sure if it's the colors of the tie or the way he's grinning, but Josh's lips look incredibly pink. Not in a lipstick-wearing kind of way, but in a boyish way. It bothers me that I haven't noticed the color of his lips before.

"I'm gonna just..." CJ pumps her thumb toward the door.

As soon as she's gone, Josh takes a few steps closer to me. Even with those small steps, I notice his familiar stride. He exudes confidence. I only hope I appear as calm.

"You're tan." He raises his eyebrows.

"You're not," I reply. I'm finally able to stand.

He smirks. "Working 12-hour days indoors will do that to a person."

I vastly underestimated the power of this man's smirk. I get weak in the knees, so I steady myself with one hand on CJ's desk.

"Is that all you're working these days?" I tilt my head.

"I don't have someone asking me questions all day, keeping me from, you know, running the country." His smirk is still firmly in place.

When I'm able to breathe, I take in the scent of Josh. He smells exactly the way I remember – a touch of cologne and Dial soap. Standing this close to him makes me dizzy.

I grin. "Must be nice." 

I'm finally able to stand on my feet without any support, but my hands are shaking. I twist them behind my back. I feel Josh's eyes roam up my body. I'm not used to this kind of scrutiny. It makes my chest and cheeks warm.

The once comfortable silence between us is gone. I need to fill the void. "My hair is a mess. I don't even own anything more than lip gloss now, so the no makeup thing is kind of an issue." I lift a strand of hair off my shoulder. "I probably should've, I don't know, spruced up a bit. The plane ride was long and –"

"Donna?"

I look up at him. "Yes?"

He touches the back of my hand. "You look incredible," he whispers.

The one touch gives me goose bumps. I swallow hard.

Josh takes a deep breath and stares into my eyes. It's entrancing. I can almost see his mind working. I don't think I'm breathing.

After a few seconds, he removes his hand and shoves it back in his pocket. "How was the trip?"

And with that, the moment passes. The moment when I thought he'd kiss me and quite possibly confess his love for me. He'd beg me to stay in DC, and I'd have a difficult time turning him down.

I look at my feet until I'm able to regain my composure. "Long, but good."

"You must be exhausted."

I can't believe after nearly four months of not seeing each other, Josh is making small talk.

"It's after midnight in Italy." I force a yawn. If he's not as affected by this moment as I am, I'm certainly not going to let him know how I feel.

"I have a dinner tonight." He looks at his watch.

"Ok." I keep my eyes averted.

"We'll catch up later?" He raises his eyebrows in anticipation of a "yes." 

What I really want to say is "I just flew nearly 15 hours to see you, and you want to 'catch up later'?" Jackass. And what does "catch up" mean anyway? Shoot the breeze? Make small talk? I don't even want to look at him right now. Four months of letters, phone calls and sleepless nights and now this? 

"Sure," I say in a shaky voice. "Call me tomorrow."

He nods and walks backwards toward the door. "Welcome home."

I blink back tears. "Thanks."

I'm stunned. In all of the dreams I've had of this moment, it never played out like this. I had more meaningful conversations with CJ and Toby.

I didn't sense any nervousness on Josh's part. He just seemed...disinterested. Maybe it's me. Maybe he doesn't like the way I look. He's never mentioned it in any of our conversations, but perhaps he's found someone else. Maybe they're just starting something, and he'll introduce her to me later. That thought makes me nauseous. Josh didn't even ask how I was doing.

I turn toward CJ's desk and try finding something to take my mind off of Josh. My breathing steadies, but my hands are still shaking. I've been here for less than an hour, and already I wish I was back in Italy.

The sound of President Bartlet's voice outside of CJ's office startles me. "You need someone who is tenacious, yet gentle. Someone with a big heart, but an even bigger mind. You know, someone for the people and all that stuff."

I quickly brush away a tear with the back of my hand. 

The President walks into the room with Leo at his side. "Someone, say, like Donna Moss." He smiles.

"Mr. President," I straighten my posture. "It's so good to see you."

He kisses my cheek. "You, too, Donna."

Leo does the same. "You look great, kid."

I twist my hands together. "It's great to see both of you."

"They tell me you've been living with the enemy," President Bartlet says, removing his glasses.

"If Italians are the enemy, sir, I'm afraid it's true." I give him a half-smile. 

Just these two men's presence lifts my spirits.

"I told you," Leo says to the President. "Look what they've done to her."

"You're positively radiant, Donnatella."

It's got to be the color. I never knew being tan would get this kind of reaction. I suppose my being whiter than paper as long as they've known me has something to do with it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Josh shows us pictures of the renovations like it was photographs of his children," the President says.

I'm shocked. First Toby, now the President?

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "The hotel is coming along nicely."

"Do you think Abbey and I could get some kind of presidential discount in the future?"

Before I have a chance to reply, Leo interrupts. "I'm sure they have a senior citizen's discount."

"You would know," the President replies, eyeing Leo.

I laugh. 

I miss this. I miss the way these men can joke about their age one minute and have secret meetings with Middle Eastern ambassadors the next. I miss the comfortable feeling inside these walls. I miss the action. I miss realizing it's after 5 o'clock and I haven't eaten lunch yet.

"Duty calls," the President announces. He steps closer to me. "It was really nice seeing you, Donna."

"You too, sir."

With that, he walks ten feet into the Oval Office and closes the door. Leo remains behind.

"You really do look good." Leo smiles.

"Thank you, Mr. Vice President." I've been waiting to call him that.

He chuckles. "That's gonna take some getting used to."

I lower my head. "I never really got to congratulate you, sir."

"Don't start with the 'sir'," he says. "At least, not yet."

I used to call him 'sir' even when I worked for Josh. Maybe he's just tired of the pandering. "Then congratulations, Leo."

"That's much better." He gestures toward the chair. "Please, have a seat."

I sit across from him. "Thank you."

"Well, are you gonna tell me about Italy, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?"

I smile. "It's amazing. The people, the food, the wine, the art, the rolling hills. It's like I've stepped into a Lippi painting."

He nods. "You're in Tuscany, correct?"

"Yes. Marlia to be exact. It's about a hundred miles northwest of Florence."

"Jenny and I spent some time in Siena, Florence and the Cinque Terre." He smiles.

"I was in Siena last weekend. There was a huge wine festival." I'm sure my eyes light up. "I haven't been to the Cinque Terre yet, but I hear it's beautiful."

"It used to be this secluded seaside escape. Now I've heard it's packed with tourists during the summer months."

I relax a bit. This is comfortable ground. "If you think the Cinque Terre is bad, Portofino is worse. It's like the Beverly Hills of Italy."

He laughs. "Nothing wrong with that if it's what you're looking for."

"I tend to stay away from touristy places," I say.

Leo loosens his tie. "I guess you've been there long enough not to be considered a tourist."

I lower my head. "Yeah."

Any time someone mentions the length of my stay in Italy, I feel guilty. If it's anyone involved in politics, I feel like they're blaming me for deserting the party.

"I'd give anything for a little time on the Italian Riviera right now," he says. "I'm sure Josh feels the same."

I want to tell Leo it seems like Josh doesn't want to be near Italy or me for that matter. 

I bite my lip. "How is he?"

I need to hear Josh is all right from someone who's constantly around him. I know Leo won't give me the standard line "he's fine" if, in fact, he's not.

"He's adjusting."

"I didn't mean..." I pause and look away. "...not the work."

"Neither did I."

I look at Leo, and he's wearing what I call his "hard" face. It's the expression he must use when making difficult decisions or standing up to the President. It's the best don't-fuck-with-me look I've ever witnessed.

I lower my head again.

"He's trying, Donna. That's all I can say."

"I know." I can't muster even a half-smile.

"I've gotta get ready for this thing tonight. I'm sure Josh told you about it." He stands and buttons his jacket.

I nod, even though I don't know the details of tonight's dinner. "It's good to see you, Leo."

He looks me in the eye. "You, too. Take care of yourself."

"I will."

After Leo leaves, I take a deep breath. The events of the day and the long flight have caught up with me. I turn my head to the side and hear tendons pop. My shoulders are tense, and my eyes burn. It's time for me to go home. I look at my watch: 6:20 p.m. That means it's 12:20 a.m. in Italy.

I take one more look around the office. I still see it as Leo's with the painting of a boat in a rough sea hanging on the wall, and the model ship standing on the side table. When Leo occupied this space, it was colder and darker. Now that CJ's taken over, it's warmer and brighter. It's hard to believe that in just over a month, this will be Josh's office. I wonder if he'll change the furniture or paint the walls. Knowing Josh, he'll probably leave it exactly the same. 

The changes in DC are almost as plentiful as the ones I've experienced in Italy. I wouldn’t trade being around for one if it meant missing the other. 

It doesn't take long to find CJ. She offers to drive me home, but I insist on taking a cab. She's gone out of her way today, and I don't want to be a nuisance. I promise to call her tomorrow.

***  
As soon as I open my apartment door, a strong musty scent hits me.

"Ugh." I swat at the air. 

I know I didn't leave anything in the fridge that would spoil. It must just be the four months of idleness. I open all the windows and leave the door cracked. Before I unpack, I have to get rid of this odor.

It takes me nearly two hours to vacuum, beat the sofa cushions, and dust the furniture. I spray an entire can of Lysol all over the apartment. By 10 o'clock, the smell has mostly disappeared. 

I can't stay on my feet any longer. I close the windows and flop on my couch. 

As has become customary when I go to sleep, my thoughts drift to Josh. He looked incredibly handsome today. I love the way his suit hugged his body. I'm pretty sure it was muscle that filled out his suit, not fat. His hair is the perfect length. And those lips. I wonder if they've always been so...delicious. I've always had a healthy attraction to his dimples and his smile, but his lips will consume me.

I grab the blanket from the back of my sofa and throw it over me. It's cold in here, but I'm too tired to do anything about it.

I think about our earlier encounter. Maybe I'm overreacting. He did say I looked incredible. I swear there was a gleam in his eyes if only for a second. Perhaps he was nervous. He didn't appear that way, but I might've appeared calm to him too. It bothers me that I can't determine with certainty what he was thinking. I used to be so good at it.

Most importantly, I saw a glimpse of the old Josh when he first walked in the room. When he commented on my tan and his working 12-hour days – that was quintessential Josh. If there's one thing I miss most, it's the banter.

I drift off to sleep with the lights still on and a small smile on my face.

*  
When I wake up, I'm shivering. I look outside and see snow on the ground. I adjust the thermostat and raid my closet for something warm to wear. As I flip through my clothes, I realize almost everything is useless now. I have a closet full of business suits, slacks and blouses. I open my dresser drawers and find the one with my comfortable winter clothes.

A Yale sweatshirt I stole from Josh is the first thing I see. I pick it up and smell it. Surprisingly, there's a trace of him still on it. I bring it into the bathroom with me to change into after I take a long, hot bath.

I've taken baths in the cottage in Marlia, but I've never felt totally relaxed. I've always had a feeling that someone might walk in or that I was using something that didn't belong to me. So this morning, in my own tub, I allow myself to relax.

That is, until the phone rings.

I jump out of the tub and run into my bedroom, hoping it's Josh calling. 

Unfortunately, it's my landlord confirming his visit at 10 a.m. That gives me exactly five more minutes of solitude in my tub. I try to relax once again, but it's too late. I have far too much to accomplish today.

I spend the day making important phone calls, meeting with my landlord and de-icing my car. I have to get the battery jumped by a neighbor. I drive around the block just to make sure it still runs. I'm going to sell it tomorrow.

At 2 p.m., my cell phone rings. My heart races when I see the number.

"Hello?"

"You even sound closer," Josh says.

"You're saying there's a difference between the way I sound in Italy and the way I sound here?" I sit on the couch for fear of my knees once again giving out.

"Yes."

"I highly doubt it," I reply. 

I've always loved the way Josh jumps into conversation before even saying hello.

He sighs. "I thought I'd get a chance to get away for lunch, but it's not going to happen."

I picture him running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sure you're swamped." I hope he can't hear the disappointment in my voice.

"Tonight. I promise," he says.

"Tonight meaning seven or eight, or are we talking midnight here?"

He lets out a small laugh. "I'll be there by nine."

"Ok," I reply.

Josh's voice sounds different than it did yesterday. Maybe he _was_ nervous when he saw me. This was the old Josh on the phone. The Josh I miss terribly.

***  
Just before 9 p.m., I hear a knock on the door. I look at my appearance in the mirror for the tenth time. I debated going to the store to buy makeup, but time got away from me. I straighten my sweater, then open the door.

Josh holds up a six pack of Budweiser and a large brown bag with Ming's Dynasty written on the side. "I figured you don't get much of this in Italy."

"No, I don't." I smile. "Come in."

Josh is wearing remnants of a suit, favoring a long coat instead of a suit jacket and a scarf rather than a tie. He's deliciously rumpled.

"Does it smell funny in here?" I ask, sniffing the air. I don't want any uncomfortable silence between us.

He looks back at me as he makes his way toward the coffee table. "Funny as in what?"

"When I came in yesterday, the whole place smelled musky."

He starts taking the Chinese containers out of the bag. "I don't smell anything, but it's freezing in here."

I walk to the window, making sure it's closed. "I had the windows and door open to get the smell out."

"Did you turn off the heat while you were at it?" He walks into the kitchen and gets two plates.

I adjust the thermostat. "I find it refreshing."

"I find it cold." He stops in the middle of the living room a few feet away from me. 

I can't read his expression, but it's like he just noticed me for the first time. His mouth is O-shaped and his face softens. If I had a camera, I'd take his picture. It's this look that will get me through long winter nights.

"It'll warm up soon," I reply.

He clenches his jaw and his expression changes like he's got an idea of how to warm things up. I berate myself for blushing. There is nothing I want more than for Josh to warm me up.

I sit next to him on the couch while he opens two beers.

"To America." He hits the neck of his beer bottle against mine.

I want to say "To Italy," but I decide leave that one alone.

It's been four months since I've eaten Chinese food. It's better than I remember.

"Notice the lack of Kung Pao Chicken," Josh says between bites.

I look inside each container. "You love Kung Pao Chicken."

"You don't." He grins.

I hide my blush behind my beer bottle.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"Fine." I take a bite of beef with peppers. I have a feeling Josh is getting somewhere with this line of small talk.

"Did you meet with the landlord?" 

And there it is. He wants to know the truth behind why I'm in town. He wants to know if I'm getting out of my lease or extending it with special circumstances. In short, Josh wants to know if I'm moving to Italy.

"Yes," I reply. I take a swig of beer, trying to remain casual and calm. "How was your day?"

"Did he come up with some kind of short-term solution?" Josh asks, ignoring my question.

I set my chopsticks down on the edge of my plate. "There's so much leading up to that meeting, Josh. I don't want to gloss over any of it."

"Gloss over it?" He raises his eyebrows.

I brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "It would be like reading the last page of a novel when you've only gotten through half of it."

"Forgive me for not dwelling on details." He lets out an incredulous chuckle.

I lower my head. "We need to start from the beginning."

"You've written letters, and we've talked on the phone." He fiddles with his chopsticks. "I don't think we need to start from scratch, Donna."

His expression is unyielding. There's no room for joking or beating around the bush. I've seen this Josh before, but I've never been at the receiving end of it.

"I'm not going to do that yet. Not until you hear the whole story." I'm surprised at my bold delivery.

He raises his eyebrows. "Is there something I don't know?"

Josh looks afraid of whatever I'm about to say. I can tell by the set of his jaw and the way his eyes lose focus, like he's thinking of worst case scenarios.

"It's about my grandmother's will." I take a deep breath before continuing. "I told you it's a provisional will, but I didn't tell you what the provision is."

He's finally able to look me in the eye. It's hard for me to focus when he looks at me this way. It's almost hopeful.

Nevertheless, I press on. "Once Albergo Girasole is fully restored, I will inherit $2 million."

He drops the chopsticks. "Excuse me?"

"I couldn't believe it at first. I've met with Nonna's attorney on several occasions and had the will translated as well."

Josh turns his body toward me. "Two million dollars?"

I nod, paying careful attention to his eyes. Right now, they're like saucers.

"So you're going to stay in Italy another two months, and when you're finished, you'll get $2 million?"

"That's partially right."

He turns his head slightly to the side. "What part am I getting wrong?" 

"The part where I stay in Italy for two more months." I gulp.

Josh stands and runs his hands through his hair. "Is this about the money?"

I slide back on the sofa and press my back firmly into the cushion. I need to feel some kind of support because right now my body feels like a noodle. "It's never been about the money, Josh. I started the renovations and met the people of Marlia." I look up at him. “I like it there."

He raises his voice. "More than here?"

What he's really getting at is if I like Marlia more than I like him. Would I be willing to sacrifice whatever it is we have for more time in Marlia? My answer to that is too convoluted to attempt, so I answer his question without delving into the deeper issue.

"Right now, yes, more than here." I remain focused on Josh's eyes. "I couldn't hear myself think in DC." I take a deep breath and lean forward. "I need to be there, Josh."

"Aren't there, like, spas or retreats you could go to for this sort of thing?" He puts his hands on his hips. "I mean, do you have to be 3,000 miles away for a little self-discovery?"

"This isn't some Oprah Winfrey crap." I stand and face him. "This is my decision to do something in my life that doesn't revolve around you or politics."

He looks shocked. "This is about me?"

It figures he'd only hear that part.

"Not exclusively." I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. "I'm burned out on politics. Before I left, I was physically and mentally exhausted. I didn't realize it until I spent some time away from all of this."

"Away from me," he whispers.

I run a hand through my hair. "Again, it's not all about you."

Josh thinks people who don't love politics are strange and in a sense, inferior. He can't wrap his brain around loving other things, whether it's sailing, knitting, or living in another country.

He walks toward the kitchen, then spins around. "How can you choose Italy over this?"

"Over what exactly?" I put my hands on my hips.

Please, Josh, for once in your life, give me a straight answer.

He shrugs. "DC, politics, CNN, baseball."

I take a step closer to him. "Those are all things _you_ love."

He clenches his jaw. "You used to love them too."

"They aren't as important to me any more." I lower my head. "Living in Italy has taught me about the value of friends and family. I don't want to spend my life working 14-hour days seven days a week in a cubicle."

"You seemed fine with it for the past eight years." He looks miffed.

"I was." I step away from him. "Working for the President was the most amazing experience I'd ever had until this point."

"Living in Italy is more amazing than working for the President?" His eyebrows come close to reaching his receding hairline.

"It's just different." I shrug. "It was an honor to serve my country. I'd do it all again if I could, but right now, I need to focus on myself – not social security, not prison terms, and not foreign aid."

I can tell by the way Josh's eyes are moving back and forth that he's trying to grasp what I'm saying. He sits back down and scratches his head. "So this is where we are." He lets out a long breath. "Neither of us is willing to give up the things we love."

"Why should we have to?" I ask just above a whisper.

"I guess we don't." Josh looks about as tired as I feel. His eyes aren't even fully open, and his shoulders are slumped.

I sit next to him. Our legs are pressed against each other, and it sends a rush throughout my body.

"I'm not staying in Italy to try to figure _this_ out, Josh. It's not about that."

He looks at me. Our faces are inches apart. "No?"

I shake my head. "There are some things I know for certain."

His Adam's apple shifts after a big gulp. "Yeah?" he whispers. "Like what?"

"Like this." I lean in and kiss him gently. I wonder if my lips are shaking.

"This?" He kisses me with just a bit more fervor, but it's still innocent.

"Yes," I reply, kissing him again. "This is the one thing I'm sure of."

He leans back, pulling me with him. Our kiss goes from innocent to passionate in less than five seconds. Josh is tugging at my lower lip as my tongue begs for entrance into his mouth. His hands roam from my thighs, to my stomach, to my arms and finally settle on my face. 

I love the way Josh possesses me. He uses just the right amount of pressure on my lips. Our heads turn to accommodate each other. Our teeth never clash, despite the passion of every single kiss. If Josh's hands are on my neck or face, mine are around his waist. It's like we've done this a million times.

I slowly make my way up Josh's arms. He's always had well-defined biceps, but he seems to be even stronger now. My left hand trails down his chest, and I feel the definition of his pectoral muscles. I drag my hand just a bit further south to his stomach. His abs ripple under the pads of my fingers.

After what feels like mere seconds, Josh breaks the kiss and stares at me. "You are so beautiful, Donna." He brushes my hair out of my face.

I blush. "I feel so plain."

"There is nothing about you that's plain." He continues rubbing my cheek.

Tears fill my eyes. "I hate that I want this."

He kisses his way down my neck. "Want what?"

"Italy," I respond. 

His lips feel incredible on my skin.

"I hate it too." He stops kissing me and looks into my eyes. "But I've never seen you so happy."

I run my finger across his jaw. "I am happy."

He shrugs. "Then I'm happy."

I smile. "No, you're not."

"You're right." He flips me onto my back and straddles my hips. 

I laugh and enjoy this playful moment for a minute.

His expression turns serious. "But I will be."

I lock my hands around his neck and pull him down for a long kiss. I love the way the weight of his body feels on top of me.

"When?" I ask between kisses.

He rubs my cheek with his thumb. "When this is more than just a one night thing."

Making love to Josh four months ago was incredible, but this is unbelievable. I feel like I'm floating. He takes his time divesting me of my clothing. When he unbuttons my sweater, he places tiny kisses on my stomach where each button was. Then he pushes the material off my shoulders, one by one, and spends an inordinate amount of time kissing me there. He pulls one of my bra straps down, letting it hang on my arm. He replaces the strap with his palm, then his lips. He does the same to the other arm. 

By the time Josh gets to my jeans, I'm a pile of Jell-O. Every kiss, every touch sends a thousand volts through my body. He spends the most time kissing and examining my tan lines. It's like he's amazed at the different colors of my skin.

After he's seemingly done exploring my body, it's my turn to torture him. When I get his shirt off, I am pleased to see I was correct: Josh is solid muscle.

"When did this happen?" I ask, trailing my fingers down his stomach.

"What, my chiseled body?" He smirks.

I kiss each dimple and sink my tongue into one of them.

"I play basketball three times a week." He pulls me down for another long kiss.

"When do you find the time?" I kiss my way down his neck and chest until I reach his left nipple. Taking it into my mouth makes Josh moan.

He runs his hands through my hair. "6 a.m."

I continue kissing my way down his body, nipping at and licking his skin. "Which would make it noon in Marlia."

"Mmm hmm." I think he's having trouble forming sentences with where my mouth is heading.

"At noon I'm usually sweating too, what with reconstructing a wall or sanding furniture or painting shutters."

I have a feeling this turns Josh on even more as he licks his lips and moans. His hands are buried in my hair.

"It's hard work, Joshua." I look up at him.

His eyes are fixed on me and his jaw is set. "Come up here."

When I don't move, he sits up, giving me a nice demonstration of what his abs look like flexed. He drags me up his body.

"Up here?" I ask, extending my legs over his. 

Every part of our bodies is touching.

"Yeah." He devours my mouth. 

I've felt like I was on the edge the entire night, so it doesn't take much for me to scream Josh's name. It takes only seconds for Josh to scream mine.

I lay on top of him completely spent. 

Josh rubs my hair and kisses my forehead. Once our breathing returns to normal, he scoots over until he's pressed against the back of the sofa. I stretch out beside him, our bodies still touching.

"When I was a kid, my dad used to take my sister and me to Corr Creek in the summer to go swimming," I say.

Josh continues rubbing my shoulder.

"My sister would slowly walk into the cold water, screaming 'it's so cold' with every step." I kiss his chest. "My father would laugh at her. He didn't even notice that I'd climbed to the top of a cliff. To me, it was like a three-story building. In reality, it was probably more like 20 feet."

Josh pulls back and looks at my face.

"I'd get to the top and peer over the edge, watching a few pebbles fall into the water below. My breath would catch in my throat, and my heart would beat wildly."

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I almost lose my train of thought.

"I'd take a few steps back, then run full speed off the cliff. That feeling of falling, you know, with the adrenaline pumping, was amazing. Then I'd hit the water, and it would literally take my breath away. It was freezing cold, but it was exhilarating."

He smiles at me. "I miss this."

I crease my brow. "What?"

"Your seemingly pointless stories."

I push my hand against his chest, trying to sit up. 

Josh grabs my wrist. "Notice the word 'seemingly'."

I give him a look I hope he understands: he's got one chance to get it right. Josh slides beneath me until I'm once again on top of him.

"I know there's a point, Donna, I just can't figure out what it is." He's smirking.

I take a deep breath and pretend to be exasperated. "My point is that feeling of jumping from a cliff into ice cold water is kind of like having...making...this." I blush. I can't bring myself to say the words "sex" or "making love." 

"This?" he asks.

I nod.

He smiles and pulls me into a full embrace. I sit up with my elbows and forearms resting on his chest.

"I knew there was a point buried in there somewhere."

"Josh!" I once again try to get up.

He holds me down. "Ok, ok. I'll shut up." He brushes my hair behind my ear. "It is exhilarating."

I lean down and kiss him. 

We spend the next few hours kissing and touching each other. Josh stares at me for long moments like he's about to say something, but he never does. I want to say something to him as well. I want to tell him that even though we were 3,000 miles away, I've fallen in love with him. I might've been falling in love the whole time we worked together, but it isn't until now that I'm fully able to admit it. 

I am shamelessly in love with Josh Lyman.


	7. Incrocio

A beam of sunlight shines in my eyes as I slowly wake up. I blink rapidly and cover my eyes with my arm. When I sigh, I feel the weight of an arm over my stomach. I smile.

"Josh?" My morning voice is groggy. I clear my throat.

He moans.

I look at the clock on my bedside table. "Crap! It's 9 o'clock!" I bolt upright.

His arm is now slung across my thighs, and his head is buried in the pillow. "Mmm hmm."

"You need to get up, Josh." I shake his shoulder. "You have to go to work."

He pulls me back down. The shape of his bicep catches my attention. Suddenly, I'm turned on again.

"As much as I'd love to stay in bed with you, Joshua, you have to leave."

Finally he turns his head toward me. He blinks slowly, adjusting to the light. "I'm not going to work today."

My eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Why not?" I ask.

He props himself up, and I'm once again drawn to the definition of this man's arms. I wonder if he'd notice if I ran my tongue from his elbow to his shoulder.

"I've got this Italian lover, see."

I snuggle closer to him and grin. "Yeah?"

He nods. "This is her last day in town before she, you know, goes back to the land that I loathe."

"The land you loathe?" I giggle.

He nods vigorously this time. "Tall, handsome men with black hair, blue eyes and Vespas. They may not have the same boyish charm as me, but still." He wraps his arm around me. "It's the land I loathe."

I kiss his nose. "I'm not a fan of Vespas."

"No?"

I shake my head.

"Cause I was thinking about buying one." Josh licks his lips before capturing mine. "You know, to compete."

"See, that's the thing." I kiss him behind the ear. "You don't have to."

We spend the next two hours tangled in each other. It isn't until 11 a.m. when we finally get out of bed.

As I take a shower, I think about last night. I'm reminded of the first time we woke up together. One phone call changed everything. I hated leaving Josh that morning, but I honestly thought I'd return the following week. Little did I know I'd move to Italy.

I wonder if Josh is thinking about that morning. I wonder if it's the reason he chose to stay with me today.

I hear a knock on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?"

I grin. "Yes."

He opens the shower door. "I was thinking about environmental conservation." He steps into the shower.

"What about it?" I wrap my arms around his neck.

"We should save water." He kisses my collarbone.

I didn't think we'd get much washing done if Josh was in the shower with me, and I was correct. That's why I washed my hair before he came in.

"CJ called," he says between kisses.

"On my home phone?"

"My cell." Josh is behind me, washing my breasts. He's been washing them for a couple of minutes now. It feels too good to make him stop.

"What did she want?" I continue my ministrations on his thighs.

He sucks on my earlobe. "Dinner with her and Toby tonight. She's cooking."

"In other words, we should bring take-out?"

I feel Josh's body vibrate when he laughs. "Either that or convince her to make dinner reservations."

I spin around in Josh's arms and waste no time devouring his mouth. We have sex against the shower wall, then have to wash our bodies all over again. I'm not complaining.

Josh handles victory differently, depending on the circumstance. There are the times when he defeats a Republican, in which case his demeanor is more smug than anything else. Then there are times when he wins a battle for a just cause – when he does something to protect or enhance the lives of Americans. His expression is different then. It's gentle. The swagger is still there, but it's not as pronounced. Still, he bounces on his toes and smiles constantly.

That's the Josh I'm with today. The one I can't stop touching. Considering his hands haven't left my body for more than ten minutes, I think he feels the same.

Josh comes with me to sell my car, which I'm happy to report earned me Blue Book value. Without his haggling, I would've ended up with a mere $2,000. He doesn't come with me to get my visa at the Italian Embassy. I'm not sure if he doesn't want to be with me when I'm handed a two-year, go-back-to-Italy-free card, or if he really has something else to do.

Nevertheless, we go our separate ways until dinner at CJ's house.

*  
I'm the last to arrive, by bus no less, at CJ's townhouse. Toby opens the door with a bourbon in his hand, glances at the bottles in my arms, and, without even saying hello to me, yells over his shoulder. "She's got the wine."

"I have more in the bag." I hold up two bottles. "And nice to see you, too."

He steps out of the way, taking a bottle and the bag off my arm carefully so as not to spill his drink.

Josh approaches me with a Coors Light in his hand. He's wearing khaki pants and a red sweater with a gray t-shirt underneath. I want to drop this bottle and jump him.

"Hey," I say instead.

"Hi." Josh fiddles with the label on the beer bottle. He gestures toward the kitchen with his head. "She's cooking chicken."

I sniff. "It smells good, CJ!"

"I hope it tastes good," she bellows from the kitchen.

"It looks burnt." I hear Toby say. "Ow!"

I'm sure CJ just slapped him.

"Did you get everything done?" Josh asks. His leg is bouncing.

This is such a weird feeling. Only six hours ago, Josh had me pinned against the shower wall with one leg around his waist, and now we're not even touching.

"Yeah," I respond.

He takes a step closer to me. As has been the case over the past two days, when Josh gets near me, my heart flutters.

Just when I think he's about to touch me, CJ enters the living room. "Take-out would've been so much easier." She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand.

I smile. "I'm sure it'll be delicious."

CJ plops into a fluffy chair. Her eyes dart back and forth between Josh and me. "What?"

Josh puts one hand in his pocket and sways nervously. I avert my eyes and fold my arms.

"What the hell is happening here?" she asks apparently noticing the awkwardness between Josh and me.

I look at CJ who is now sitting on the edge of her seat. Then I notice Toby, smirking in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. He takes a long swig of bourbon.

"What do you mean?" Josh asks.

I hear Toby chuckle.

Josh eyes him. "What?"

"Can I have a word?" Toby asks, bending his finger for Josh to follow.

When the men are safely out of earshot, CJ stands next to me. "It happened again, didn't it?" She's smiling.

I don't meet her gaze. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, CJ, I –"

She puts her hand on my upper arm and pleads with me. "Donna!"

"Wait a minute," I say, creasing my brow. "Did you say 'again'?"

She looks confused. "Am I...Josh didn't..."

"Tell me he told you?" I'm going to kill him. "No."

Isn't it supposed to be the woman who confides in her female friend after she has sex with the man for whom she's secretly pined for nine years?

"He was lonely and he needed some advice, so he came to me." CJ backs away. "This isn't really going to be a thing, is it? Cause I roasted a chicken."

I try remaining serious, but I can't help laughing. "You roasted a chicken?"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Damn straight!"

"He can be kinda girly sometimes." I gesture toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, but he can also be really sweet. I never gave him much credit for that in the past." She tilts her head. "I'm happy for you, Donna."

CJ's hug reminds me of Maria's. It's firm and sincere.

"Don't stop on account of us," Toby says as he enters the living room.

"You're a sick man, Tobus," CJ releases me.

Josh looks bashful. It's adorable.

"They know," he whispers in my ear.

"No kidding." My voice remains loud enough for CJ and Toby to hear.

"What?" He holds out his arms as if he did nothing wrong.

"You told CJ?"

He gulps. "No?"

I put my hands on my hips. "Wanna try again?"

He troubles his bottom lip. I'd like to take it between my teeth right now and...

"It was a long time ago, and I needed to talk to somebody," he says. His face is pink. It matches his lips nicely.

"You told CJ?" Toby asks Josh. "Wait. Why do I care?"

"He had three Old Fashioneds before you arrived," CJ comments.

I pull Josh by his arm toward the kitchen. "You told CJ?" I ask again.

He shrugs like he doesn't know how to answer my question. "I trusted her, Donna. She knows both of us, and I needed to hear I wasn't making a mistake."

"A mistake?" I fold my arms. This conversation just took a nasty turn.

"Not a mistake as in sleeping with you." He takes a step closer to me. "A mistake as in letting you go."

I turn my head away, trying to hide my smile.

"You're smiling," he says, mimicking my expression. He grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away from my face, revealing a huge grin.

Josh's fingers skate down my hand until they are entwined with mine. "I didn't tell her for bragging rights, Donna."

I look into his eyes.

He smirks. "Although that was an added bonus."

"Josh!"

He squeezes my hand and steps close enough for me to smell beer on his breath. "I told her 'cause I was going crazy."

I lean in and kiss him gently on the lips. Before I'm able to pull away, I feel his hand on the back of my head, holding me in place. It's an innocent kiss, but it's filled with emotion.

When we break the kiss, I can't speak. I only nod.

"We're ok?" he asks in a whisper.

I kiss his chin. "Yes."

Just then, the oven alarm goes off. The kitchen slowly fills with smoke. CJ comes running in. "Get the fire extinguisher!"

Toby digs under the sink and produces a small white fire extinguisher. Josh and I remain on the side, his arm around my waist.

"What the hell did you have that thing set on, CJ?" Toby asks.

She opens the oven and pulls out the large pan. There's no fire. "I saved it."

Toby peers over her shoulder. "If by saved you mean burnt, I'd have to agree."

We all laugh. Toby finds a phone book and orders pizza while I open a bottle of Italian wine.

We spend the evening laughing and reminiscing. Every so often, Josh puts his hand on my leg or around my waist. My heart spins each time he touches me. At first, CJ looks shocked, but she eventually seems to get used to it. Toby always averts his eyes as if he was watching a lurid act.

Josh looks happier than I've ever seen him. He's telling funny stories, making fun of Republicans, and laughing wholeheartedly. It's going to be very difficult to leave him tomorrow morning.

At the end of the evening, I hug and kiss CJ and Toby. CJ promises to visit me soon, and Toby promises to at least send pictures of the twins. I feel a little teary-eyed when they close the door.

"Are you all right?" Josh massages my neck.

I give him a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah."

We drive back to my apartment in silence. Josh's hand is in my lap, and I hold it in both of mine. His thumb strokes my knuckles.

I think about Marlia and the people I've grown to love. I also think about the renovations to Albergo Girasole. I wonder if Maria and Vincent accomplished anything while I'm in DC. 

Then I think about the man sitting next to me. I watch him drive. His left hand grips the wheel just as tightly as his right hand is holding mine. I want to pull over and hold him in my arms. I want to tell him I love him, and just because I'm gone, it doesn't mean I won't think about him every minute.

But I don’t say anything. I just keep holding Josh's hand and watching him. I have to take what I can get. In nine hours, I'll be on a plane to Italy.

***  
Josh and I have had lots of sex in two days, but this is the first time I'd consider it truly making love. Everything about this encounter is slow and tender. I don't feel like I'm going to explode when he touches me. Sure, I'm just as turned on as the six times before, but it's different. The kisses are gentle. Josh touches me with only his fingertips. It tickles, but I don't laugh.

We stare at each other more than we kiss, all the while touching arms, legs, stomachs and necks. He combs his fingers through my hair and leans down for a short kiss every few minutes. I run my hands down his chest, closing my eyes as if it will make me remember the feeling of his warm skin longer. 

This is the first time we don't talk during sex. All the other times, we've laughed, talked about politics or discussed interesting positions. The last one made me blush. But this time we're silent. The only sounds in the room are of small kisses, rumpled sheets and the hiss of the furnace.

Neither of us pays much attention to the clock. It's only when the sun peeks through my sheer drapes that I know it's morning. If I slept at all, it was only minutes. I could swear Josh didn't even shut his eyes. He's still staring at me.

"I should get up," I whisper against his chest.

He moves his hand to the back of my neck and pulls me slowly into a kiss. My lips are on fire, and my heart leaps. This might be the last time we kiss in my bed in this apartment. I squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears from falling.

Josh pulls away. "Ok." His smile appears forced.

I kiss his dimple, then swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower. I expect Josh to join me, but he never does. When I dry off, I return to my bedroom. 

As I'm about to call his name, I notice Josh sitting on the edge of the bed. He's facing the window, so I don't think he notices me. I can see his reflection in the tall oval mirror. He wipes his eyes. 

I turn around and press my back against the wall. My breathing becomes erratic. I lick my lips and lower my head.

I hear the floorboards creak. "Donna?"

I pretend to be coming out of the bathroom. "Hey."

"I thought I heard you." He smiles. If he was crying, all traces of tears are gone.

"It's all yours." I gesture toward the shower.

"Thanks." He scoots past me, rubbing my belly with the back of his hand.

While Josh is in the shower, I finish packing. I came with only one suitcase, but I'm leaving with three. After all, I have to take everything valuable since I won't be returning to this apartment ever again. That thought frightens me. I've lived here for six years. It's the longest I've lived in one place since my childhood. I know every notch, every nook and cranny. If I was thirsty in the middle of the night, I didn't even have to turn the lights on to find my way to the kitchen. Everything about this place is comfortable.

As I pack the old quilt on the back of my sofa, I'm reminded of the late nights and weekends Josh spent here over the past six years. His drunken visits stopped after the first year. After that, he'd come over with some pressing work issue in which he needed my assistance. He'd start out at the kitchen table or in my old blue armchair. By the end of the night (which was usually the early morning), he was either sprawled on the floor or next to me or on the sofa.

When Josh emerges from the shower, he quickly dresses in the same clothes he wore yesterday. He helps me zip the largest suitcase, then he takes it to his car. We make one more trip upstairs before closing my apartment door for the last time.

Josh and I don't exchange many words on the drive to the airport. He looks tired and more than a little sad. I wonder if I look the same.

We decide it would be best for him to drop me off at the curb. If he parked and came inside with me, it would be quite a show. There might be crying, but there would definitely be kissing. I thought it best to keep our public displays of affection as limited as possible.

"This is it." Josh puts the car in park.

I take a deep breath. "Yeah."

"We never really discussed when we'll see each other again," he says.

"No." I lower my head. I've been playing with the edge of my sweater on the drive to the airport, and now it's frayed.

"President Santos is talking about a trip to Rome in the early spring." It's the first time I've seen joy in his eyes this morning.

I smile. "That would be nice."

"Yeah." He puts one hand on my cheek and the other over my hands in my lap. "Call me when you get in."

I bite my lip and nod.

"The past two days, Donna..." He clenches his jaw. I don't think he can finish his statement without getting emotional.

"I know." I sniffle.

"You need to go." He raises his eyebrows in what I'm assuming is an attempt to keep his tears hovering just inside his eyelids.

"Right," I respond, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. "I'll call and e-mail and write."

He smiles. "I'll answer."

I nod again. "Goodbye, Josh."

He looks at our hands, still joined in my lap. "Bye."

With that, I open the door and give the skycap a tip to remove my luggage from Josh's trunk. I notice Josh rubbing his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He doesn't look back. As soon as the trunk is shut, he drives away.

Tears rush down my face. I have to steady myself against a large cement column before I crumble.

"Miss, are you ok?" the skycap asks.

"Yes," I answer between sobs. "Just give me a minute."

I allow myself to cry as hard as I can for the next few minutes. After this, I promise myself not to shed another tear. This is my choice. 

Going back to Italy is _my_ choice.


	8. Incrocio

On the flight from DC to New York, I think about Josh. I cringe at the thought of leaving him without having told him how I feel. He must know. Then again, I don't really know how he feels. Sure, he enjoyed the past two days, but who wouldn't? They were filled with friendship, laughter and sex. It felt like I was in a romantic movie with a sad ending. Everyone gets their Kleenex out and blows their noses, leaving the theater with thoughts of "Why couldn't they just be together? Why didn't she stay?"

I wish I knew the answer. Truth is, something powerful is drawing me back to Italy. I don't know if it's to complete the project or to be with my grandmother's best friends. All I know is despite my deep affection for Josh, I need to be in Marlia.

I sleep the entire flight from JFK to Florence. It isn't until the pilot announces our final descent that I finally open my eyes.

Lucia meets me at the airport at 1 a.m. "Donnatella!" She runs toward me. "Your flight is early."

I smile. "Thank you for picking me up so late."

She swats her hand in the air. "Are you kidding? This is like noon to me."

I hug her.

She takes one of my three bags. "I want to hear everything."

During the drive back to Marlia, I tell Lucia almost everything. I tell her about the White House, seeing Josh for the first time, the rush of memories, and the sex. She pats me on the shoulder.

"I knew it would happen," she says.

"How?"

"Call it a gift." She shrugs. "When two people are as in love as you and vostro dolce, it's in your eyes."

I blush. "I miss him already, Lucia."

She rubs my arm. "I know."

For the rest of the drive, Lucia fills me in on the happenings in Marlia over the past four days. It basically amounts to a whole lot of nothing.

Albergo Girasole looks the same as it did four days ago, except for the two topiaries at the front entrance. They look identical to the ones in the photograph from years ago.

"You get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow night. We'll have dinner at my restaurant." Lucia brings the last of my bags into the cottage.

"I can't thank you enough." I hug her. "Buona sera."

I don't have enough energy to unpack tonight, so I take a long shower before crawling into bed. Before drifting off to sleep, I call Josh as promised.

"It's 3 a.m. in Italy," he answers.

I crease my brow. I used the land line, not my cell phone, to call Josh. "How'd you know it was me?"

"I set up a distinctive ring," he responds.

"You know how to do that?"

"Rhea in tech support does." I picture him grinning. "How was the flight?"

"I slept most of the way." I pull the sheets high up on my arms. "How are you?"

"Tired." He sighs.

"Are you home?"

"I'm at headquarters. I had a lot of catching up to do."

I feel guilty that Josh skipped work yesterday to be with me. "Sorry about that."

"What else would I do with my time?"

That relaxes me a bit. "Playing basketball seems to work out well for you."

"You mean for you," he replies. I can tell he's smiling.

"I'm not complaining." I adjust my position in bed.

"You should get some sleep." It sounds like he's stretching.

"Yeah. You should do the same."

"I'll let you know when I take my own advice," he quips. "And I'm working on that trip to Rome."

I smile. "Good."

There's a long silence between us. Once again, I want to fill it with words of love and commitment. And once again, I don't.

Josh breaks the silence. "I like your letters."

"Then I'll write everyday."

"And I'll wait." I have a feeling he means he'll wait for a lot more than my letters. The sentiment fills me with joy.

"Good," I say again. "Get some rest, Josh."

"I will. I just have to finish a couple of things here." I hear his chair roll back.

"Ok. Talk to you soon."

There's a long pause. "Donna?"

"Yes?"

Say it, Josh. Don't make me guess any more.

"Good night," he says.

I sigh. "Good night, Joshua."

I thought I'd spend the next hour dwelling on our conversation and yet another missed opportunity for both of us to say how we feel. Instead, I turn on my left side and fall fast asleep. If it's my choice to be in Italy and not with Josh, I have to start acting like this is where I want to be.

***  
Maria barges into my room this morning, making me think there's some sort of emergency.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up quickly.

She throws her arms around me. "Oh, we missed you too much, Donnatella."

"I was gone four days, Maria." I release her.

"Look at me," she instructs, putting two fingers beneath my chin. "Something is different."

I lower my eyes. "Have I ever told you you're crazy?"

"Nonsense! Something has changed you." She tilts her head and folds her arms over her ample breasts. "Or should I say someone?"

I get out of bed and walk to the bathroom. "I doubt I could've changed very much in four days."

"It is that man. The one Lucia calls vostro dolce." Maria stands next to my bed. "Come out here, Donnatella."

When I open the bathroom door, Maria is grinning from ear to ear. "He makes you shine."

I can't hide my smile any longer. "How do you see that?"

She shakes her head. "How could I not?"

I look at myself in the mirror. Maria is right – I'm glowing. Josh wouldn't let me hear the end of it if he was here.

"I've told you about Josh." I sigh. "We spent some time together."

Maria sits on the edge of my bed. "Much time, from what it looks like."

"Yes." I blush. "Much time."

"I must meet him."

"If only it were that simple," I respond. "Josh is the Chief of Staff for the new President of the United States. He doesn't exactly have free time."

She looks at me as if I'm insane. "He must make time."

I laugh. "Again, it's not that easy."

"Ah, Donnatella. Il vostra cuore will make it happen." Maria grabs my hand. "Trust that."

She helps me unpack all three suitcases, which takes nearly all morning. I don't tell her everything I told Lucia about seeing Josh again. Maria has become the closest thing to a mother I've had since childhood, and some things are better left unsaid.

Over the next few days, I get caught up on the details of the restoration project. Everything appears to be on schedule, which shocks me. The way things were going the past few months, I thought I'd be knee-deep in this thing for a full year.

Part of me is excited that the project will be done on schedule; however, I never imagined I'd become so passionate about the restoration. I love the way I feel after a long day's work in the garden or sanding furniture. I like being given a task by Signore Bonura and accomplishing it with my bare hands. Whether it's repairing a lock or wiring an electrical outlet, I've become comfortable in my role here.

***  
I haven't spoken to Josh or written to him in five days. He's busy with, well, running the country, and I'm busy with the renovations. When I finally have 20 minutes to spare, I prepare a hot cup of cocoa, make myself comfortable on the veranda, and write. 

_Dear Josh,_

_I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. Things in Marlia have been kind of crazy. Vincent fell off the ladder for the fourth time, this time spraining his wrist. Maria and I took him to the hospital only to find the Raguzzi family there. Stefan fell out of his new tree house and broke his arm. If that's not enough, the next day, Dante was unloading supplies at the coffee bar and smashed two fingers, breaking one. I've been helping out at the bar every afternoon while Anna picks up the children from school._

_We finally have reliable internet access at Albergo Girasole, and I'm in the process of building a website. It's slow going, considering I only know how to do basic word processing and the occasional spreadsheet. The site should be up next week. You should check it out: albergogirasole.com. I'm tweaking the reservation section, but everything else looks pretty good. I'm particularly proud of the history section where I pay tribute to my grandmother._

_When I'm not working on the website or helping at the Raguzzi bar, I'm doing Vincent's job at the hotel. Thankfully Signore Bonura hired an extra man to finish tiling the roof. Once that's complete, the major renovations will be done. Barring any emergencies, we should be up and running by late February – right on schedule._

_That thought is both exciting and intimidating. I still have a lot to do before then, including ordering soaps, shampoos and lotions. There's this place in Prato called Viola, which means "purple" in English. Everything they make is lavender scented. They gave me a deal too good to pass up, so I hope my guests like the sweet smell of lavender. I'm also going to buy some new bedding and towels from a wholesaler. If I have any money left, I'm buying a new washing machine. Maria will be thrilled._

_As you probably know, CJ is visiting me in three weeks. Her visit may coincide with our grand re-opening. I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am. I only wish her carry-on would be you. Give my love to everyone (and save a little for yourself)._

_Donna_

 

***  
I've been so busy with the opening of the hotel that I don't realize CJ is flying in today until I get a phone call from her while she’s waiting for her plane at JFK.

Lucia and I have been working on the grand re-opening event. She even convinced me to cook a couple of dishes. We reserved three rooms for Lucia's family and friends and one room for CJ. I wanted the first visitors to be honest about their stay here, so I figured having people I know would be the best option.

Much like when CJ picked me up from Dulles, we greet each other with a monster hug.

"You drive a truck?" she asks, hopping in the small front cabin.

"The internet man from Empoli sold it to me for a free weekend at Albergo Girasole in the spring. It has a little trouble starting if I don't use it every day, but otherwise, it's perfect. I didn't tell you I'd gotten it?"

"No, but I love it!" CJ laughs. "Does Josh know about this?"

I laugh with her. "God, no. He'd tease me about my farm girl roots."

"It would probably turn him on," she says.

As usual, being with CJ is a gift. Our conversation flows naturally. On our drive to Marlia, I show her some landmarks and tell her about the opening of Albergo Girasole.

"You seem calm for such a big event."

"Then I'm hiding it well," I say. "I hate to do this to you, CJ, but once we get there, I'm going to have to do a little work."

"I'll help out if I can." She smiles.

We drive down the long gravel road into Marlia and come to the entrance to the property. Vincent is polishing the bronze address plate.

"Buongiorno, Donnatella!" He waves.

"Come to the main house, Vincent. I want you to meet my friend," I say in Italian.

"Did you just speak Italian?" CJ asks.

I nod. "You'll probably pick it up while you're here."

I watch CJ's expression change as the hotel comes into view. She looks amazed.

"This isn't yours," she states, leaning forward.

"Well, it was my grandmother's." I pause. "I guess technically it's mine now." 

That thought hits me hard. This truly is mine. The renovations are complete, and I've gotten full blessing from Lorenzo Gregorio and The Count. Two million dollars will be wired to my Italian bank account next week. I never really cared about the money, although it will be nice not to worry how I'm going to pay my bills. Not that I've had any bills since my move to Marlia. The most important thing is seeing Albergo Girasole in all of its glory. I know my Nonna is smiling down on me.

CJ touches my arm. "This is astonishing."

"Thanks." I blush. 

I've always thought of CJ as an older sister, and making her proud pleases me to no end. Watching her expression now makes me feel like I'm on top of the world.

As soon as we get out of the truck, I'm bombarded by the people of Marlia.

"What do you think of the lights?" Dante gestures toward the string of lights hanging on both sides of the walkway.

"They're spectacular," I respond.

"You need to taste Lucia's tortellini con noci e speck," Anna says.

"In a minute."

"Is this good?" Stella shows me a stack of folded white napkins.

"It's perfect."

"Dove essere supplementare piastra?" Vincent asks.

"Sotto contatore," I respond. This is beginning to be overwhelming. "Everyone!" I yell. "I need you all to stop."

CJ looks as overwhelmed as I feel.

"This is my friend CJ. She came from Washington, DC, to be with us." I repeat the phrase in Italian for Vincent's sake.

Anna, Dante, Stella, Stefan, Vincent, and two people who must be part of the catering staff greet CJ with handshakes and hugs.

"We're going to put her stuff inside; then I'll be able to answer your questions and help," I add.

CJ shakes her head. "I feel like I'm in another world."

"You kind of are." I pick up her suitcase and walk in the main house. It smells like ripe tomatoes and roasted garlic.

"Ah, Donnatella!" Maria greets me with a hug. She pulls at the bottom of her black top, as if that will make her more presentable. "You must be Claudia Jean."

CJ turns to me. "You told them my real name?"

I shrug. "They call me Donnatella."

She chuckles. "Yes, I'm Claudia Jean."

Maria envelopes her in a hug. "I can't breathe," she gasps.

I smile. "Get used to it."

We talk to Maria and Lucia for a few minutes before I escort CJ to what we refer to as "the blue room" because of the sky blue paint. My heart starts beating rapidly when I realize this is my first guest.

"Here it is." I say a small prayer that the lock I installed works. 

Thankfully, the key turns without a problem.

"I'm speechless." CJ puts her hand over her chest. "You did this?"

"With a lot of help, yes." I swallow hard.

"Unbelievable, Donna. This is truly incredible."

"You really think so?" I adjust the wooden blinds to allow more light to stream in.

She whips her head around to face me. "Are you kidding? It's like a five-star hotel."

"I don't know what to say." I blush.

It's the first time anyone not related to the project has paid me such a compliment. Sure, Lorenzo Gregorio and Franco Mazzolini praised my work, but they were here to _appraise_ it. CJ's comments set me soaring. A five-star hotel? I was shooting for three-star status. Knowing the hard work I put in has paid off makes me feel incredible.

CJ puts her hand on my arm. "You don't have to say a thing. This place speaks for itself."

We hear a knock on the door. Stella is anxious to give CJ a tour of the property, so I turn her over while I tend to some pressing business. I have a feeling CJ will enjoy Stella's company as much as I do.

*  
I've given specific tasks to my friends so I can oversee everything while enjoying the grand re-opening at the same time. Lucia and Anna are in charge of food; Dante is in charge of drinks; Sr. Catherine is in charge of cleaning up as the party progresses; Maria is in charge of greeting the guests; Vincent is in charge of security (which really means he doesn't have a task); and Stella and Stefan are in charge of the music.

The guests begin arriving at 6 p.m. I borrowed two large picnic tables from Lucia, but I'm worried there won't be enough seating. I make a couple of phone calls to get two more large tables delivered.

By 7 p.m., Albergo Girasole is alive. There must be over 30 people here, not including the small jazz band I hired. Everything is exactly as I imagined it would be. I knew we'd never fit this many guests inside, so despite the cold weather, I decided to make it an indoor/outdoor event. Lucia brought three gas heaters which have made a world of difference on the veranda.

Lorenzo Gregorio catches my eye from across the lawn. He raises his wine glass and walks in my direction. "Voi esso."

"I did, didn't I?" I grin. "Thank you for everything, Lorenzo."

"What did I do? Nothing." He smiles. "Your grandmother would be so proud."

I nod, finally believing that statement to be true.

CJ approaches us, a bit wobbly. "Hi, I'm Claudia Jean." She sticks out her hand. She's had several glasses of wine.

"Lorenzo Gregorio." He shakes her hand. "You must be Donnatella's American friend."

"I am." She puts one hand on her hip.

Lorenzo turns to me. "You didn't tell me you had such beautiful friends."

I raise my glass. "Now you know."

I leave Lorenzo and CJ alone near the jazz band and survey the property. The sound of music and laughter fills my heart. There are over 50 white candles scattered on the tables and along the wall dividing the veranda and the garden. The candlelight coupled with the small light bulbs lining the walkway makes this party look like something straight out of Conde Nast Traveler magazine. I take a deep breath through my nose and inhale the aroma of fine Italian cooking mixed with the freshness of being outdoors.

I pull my coat tighter around my body. It's much colder on the outskirts of the party than it is in the middle of it all.

Stella, Stefan and two of their friends are dancing near the band. Dante and Anna are side-by-side, watching their children. Maria is telling stories, gesticulating wildly. Vincent is laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes. Sr. Catherine is enjoying her second glass of wine. Lorenzo is explaining the different types of cheeses and meats to CJ. The only person I haven't seen in quite some time is Lucia. I go in the main house to search for her.

There are a number of people inside, but Lucia is nowhere to be found. My fear is this party is too much for her to handle. She won't admit it, but she gets emotional when family and friends celebrate together. I know she misses Ricardo beyond anything I'll ever understand.

"Have you seen Lucia?" I ask her mother.

"If you can believe it, we ran out of tomatoes," her mom responds. "Lucia went to the restaurant to get more."

"We could've done without them, don't you think? I mean, the dishes are already prepared," I state, checking to see if the pasta is cooked.

Lucia's mom stirs the meat sauce. "You know my daughter. She has to make sure everything is just right."

I give her a half smile. I really wanted Lucia and CJ to spend some time together. Just as CJ is my closest friend in DC, Lucia has become my closest friend in Marlia.

I decide to go back outside and wait for Lucia to return. When I open the front door, my breath catches in my throat. I feel my mouth hanging open, but I'm too stunned to close it. I nearly lose my balance.

"Il vostro dolce." Lucia smiles and steps aside.

And there he is – the man who captures my heart by just standing there with a silly grin.

"I heard you were having a party." His dimples are on full display.

"My God." I take two steps forward and throw my arms around Josh's neck. 

I feel his hands skim around my waist, pulling me impossibly close. "Surprise," he whispers in my ear.

Tears sting my eyes. "Josh."

He pulls back and holds my face in his hands. "I couldn't miss this."

I bite my lip and try holding back tears. It's no use once he slowly leans in to kiss me. The kiss is filled with so much passion that when we pull away, my legs are wobbly, and I feel a strong, lustful sensation throughout my body.

I pull myself together enough to speak more than two-word sentences. "Welcome to Italy."

He smiles. "Thanks."

"Enough!" Lucia says. I forgot she was standing here. "Let's celebrate!"

"You have some explaining to do," I tell her.

"I will explain everything later. For now, we need wine, food and music!" She walks around the side of the house to where the majority of the people are eating and drinking.

Josh takes my hand. "From the short time I've spent with Lucia, I don't want to, you know, piss her off. We should drink, eat and dance."

I smile. I'm anxious to hear how in the hell this all happened without my knowledge, but I have a house full of people who are depending on me for this celebration.

We don't make it past the first row of people without getting stopped. I introduce Josh to several of them, but when Maria sees him, she rushes to my side.

"Is this him?" she asks in my ear.

I suppose the way my hands are twisted around his arm and my body leans into him doesn't give it away. "Yes, Maria. This is Josh Lyman."

"Ah," she says, hugging him. "I've been meaning to meet you."

Josh looks at me with a hint of fear. Considering Maria's rough countenance and the way she's dragging him away, I'd be a little scared too. Maria has taken on the role of mother AND grandmother, so meeting Josh means auditioning Josh. He'll have to meet her approval. This is going to be fun.

I take this opportunity to check on the progress of the party. Of course, my mind is so focused on Josh that I don't think I'd notice if the house was on fire. Besides, I have full faith that my friends are handling the party as if it was their own.

After 15 minutes, I have to literally drag Josh away. "Excuse us, Maria."

When we're out of earshot, Josh leans in. "She frightens me," he whispers.

"Good," I respond. "You'll have plenty of time to talk to Maria. There are several other people you have to meet."

"What does 'unione' mean?"

"Onion," I lie. I am going to kill Maria!

He looks confused. "Was she talking to me about making a stew?"

"Mi amore!" CJ jogs toward us. "What took you so damn long?"

"Rome was a mess," Josh answers, turning his neck back and forth as if to loosen the kinks.

"The President was ok with this little detour?"

Ah ha! Josh must've made the Rome trip happen.

"He encouraged it." I feel his hand on my lower back.

Lorenzo approaches us with a tray of assorted breads and cheeses. "Care for some sustenance?"

"Josh Lyman, I'd like you to meet Lorenzo Galgagno, my new husband."

"CJ!" I yell, giving her a pointed look. I must have told her Lorenzo's last name ten times today. In fact, rarely do I mention Lorenzo Gregorio as just "Lorenzo." It's more common for me to refer to him as Signore Gregorio.

She's bent over laughing. Lorenzo laughs with her as he removes the wine glass from her hand. "It's Sergio's chianti." He gives me a knowing look.

"Ah," I respond. Sergio lives about two miles away and runs a small vineyard. His wine is dangerously potent.

Josh shakes Lorenzo's hand. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

I give him a quizzical look. "Not a lot, Josh."

"Well, some." He smiles.

Lorenzo chuckles. "It's a pleasure."

The four of us talk for a long while before we're interrupted by the rest of my dear friends of Marlia. Stella makes little kissing faces behind Josh's back, and Stefan joins in. It's quite the spectacle.

When I feel as though everyone is happy and enjoying the atmosphere, I sneak away with Josh. As soon as we get to the east side of the house, Josh stops and kisses me.

"How did this happen?" I ask, looking up at him.

"There's this hot blonde, see." He sways against me. "She left her man in DC to go gallivanting in Italy."

"Josh!" I swat his arm. "Gallivanting?"

He rubs my back. "I made the Rome trip happen a little sooner than I thought it would." 

"And the President is really ok with that?" I trail baby kisses down the side of his neck.

"He is." Josh moans. "In fact, he told me to take a couple days off."

I pull back so I can see his face. "Seriously?"

He nods. "It's not as much time as I'd like to spend here, but I had to take what I could get."

I kiss him gently, but Josh apparently wants more. He makes me walk backwards until I hit the side of the house with a thud.

"Ow."

"You ok?"

"Mmm hmm." I resume kissing him. My hands are tangled in his hair, and his are planted firmly on my butt.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?" He sucks my earlobe into his mouth.

"We're in public." I don't pull away. What Josh is doing with his tongue is amazing.

He releases my ear and looks in both directions. "I don't see anyone."

I push my hand against his chest, creating just enough space between us. "There is nothing I'd like more than to kiss you until the sun comes up, but I have guests."

He smirks. "Until the sun comes up?"

I sigh and push him away just a bit more. "We can continue this later."

"You better run right now or else I'm not going to be held responsible for public nudity."

I laugh and pull him by the hand to the front of the house. 

As I take Josh on a tour of the property, he's more attentive than I thought he'd be. A couple of times, he brings up the differences between the photographs I sent him and the appearance of Albergo Girasole now. He touches the walls and examines the furniture. He knocks on the window that I'd told him Maria broke with the mop handle. He runs the water in one of the sinks as if he's testing the plumbing. It surprises me that Josh has taken such a keen interest in my project.

We make our way back downstairs and into the kitchen.

"I don't know what to say," he whispers. "What you've done..."

I give him a bashful smile. "I had help."

He rubs his fingers along the marble counter. "Yeah, but you're responsible for this, Donna. Don't sweep your role under the rug."

I bite my lip. "I'm proud. It feels good."

"You should be." He flashes the dimples.

I wrap my arms around his neck. Our bodies are touching from thighs to shoulders. "It definitely feels good."

"I'm sure it does," CJ responds from the doorway, eyeing Josh.

I quickly pull away. CJ's known about the shift in our relationship for quite some time, but I still feel a bit shy.

"Where's your husband?" Josh quips.

CJ sighs. "I think he found someone more interesting."

"Impossible." I take CJ by the arm and usher her to the sofa. "Having fun?"

"I am." She smiles. "I still can't get over what you've accomplished, Donna."

Josh stands in front of us, admiring the ornately painted fireplace vent. "That's what I was saying."

"Everything – the gardens, the house, the furniture, the decorations, the food. It's really extraordinary."

I lower my head. "Thank you. I only hope the hotel gets actual business."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Josh says, sitting next to me.

I turn to him. "I still can't believe you're here."

"He had to make an entrance." CJ flops against the back of the couch.

Josh squeezes my arm.

"Are you getting a little tired there, CJ?" he asks.

She yawns. "Yeah. I should probably head up."

Josh helps her stand, and we all walk upstairs to the blue room.

CJ doesn't take off more than her shoes before climbing into bed. "This was a fabulous day."

"We'll have even more fun tomorrow," I respond.

"Good night, Claudia Jean," Josh says.

"Night."

Josh and I return to the party after a quick makeout session at the top of the stairwell. We get split up for nearly an hour. Everyone wants a piece of my time and more than a few people want to interrogate Josh.

I catch his eye every once in a while. He has this intense way of staring at me, yet the people he's speaking with don't seem to notice. When he realizes I'm looking at him, his lips quirk up just a bit. His right dimple is more pronounced than his left when he smiles like this. I'm always the first to blush and look away.

Even as Franco Mazzolini gives me an earful about the Italian Renaissance, I can think of nothing but Josh. He came to quite possibly the biggest event in my life. He surprised me, which doesn't happen often. Come to think of it, I've never been this surprised in my entire life. 

Not that there was ever any question, but he's getting well and truly laid tonight.


	9. Incrocio

It isn't until 2 a.m. when the last of my guests depart. Lucia makes sure her family and friends find their rooms in Albergo Girasole before she leaves. As I pick up the last of the wine glasses from the veranda, Josh puts his arms around me from behind.

"Are you happy?" he asks against my cheek. His breath smells like red wine.

I smile. "Very."

"Good," he whispers. "Can we go to bed now?"

I giggle. Josh tugs me closer.

"Yes, we can go to bed now." I turn in his arms. Josh looks tired, but there's a sparkle in his eyes. I haven't seen this look before, and I thought I'd seen them all.

I tilt my head. "You look happy, too."

He kisses my nose. "I am."

I lower my head and ask in my best casual tone "I thought you said you wouldn't be happy until this was more than a one-night thing?"

He answers with a long kiss. My senses are overwhelmed. I don't know whether to concentrate on his hands on my hips or the way his tongue glides against my teeth.

"Bed," he says.

I pull Josh into the cottage, and he stops in the doorway. "This is where you live?"

I nod.

He surveys the room and takes a few steps into the parlor. "It's nice. Very homey."

"Thank you." I promise to allow him to explore the cottage in more detail tomorrow. For now, I need to be horizontal with Josh.

I close the window and rub my arms to fight off the chill in the air. He switches on the small heater next to my dresser. We meet at the foot of the bed. 

Josh puts his hands on my wrists and slides his fingers slowly up my arms to my elbows under my sleeve. He says my name in a whisper, then withdraws his hands from my arms. Tucking two fingers inside the collar of my blouse, he opens only the top button. He leans in close enough to fit his mouth in the shallow place at the bottom of my throat. I'm sure he can feel my pulse beating rapidly.

I feel my body opening up, wanting nothing more than this. My skin feels like liquid under his touch. I moan.

An absolute stillness follows. Josh stares at me with intensity. He raises his hand to my face and outlines my eyes, nose and lips with his fingertips.

I bring my hand to the back of his neck and feel the fine hairs that twirl in a comma there. I pull him close enough for our foreheads to rest against each other. Josh's sigh is filled with relief and pleasure.

"Donna," he whispers.

I pull back and look in his eyes. There's a trace of worry there.

"What is it?" I ask.

He runs his hand down my arm. "Nothing."

I pull back just a bit. "Something's on your mind, Josh."

He clenches his jaw. 

"Is something wrong?" I hope he can see the worry on my face.

He looks down and takes a deep breath. "Leo's been my role model for as long as I can remember."

I continue rubbing the back of his neck. I'm not sure where this is going, but if there's something wrong with Leo, I want to know about it even if this isn't the best time.

"He's been my mentor; my friend. I wanted to be just like him." He sighs. "But there was one decision Leo made that I refuse to follow."

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Josh licks his lips. "I never thought someone would be more important to me than politics."

"Josh." I feel my cheeks getting warm.

He lifts my chin with a finger. "When you're not with me, I'm somehow...less. Less sharp, less focused, less motivated, less amused."

I avert my eyes and smile.

He rubs my back. "I'm not doing this because I want you to come home. After seeing what you've done to this place, I realize why you love it."

I take a deep breath.

"I watched you tonight." He holds my hand against his chest. "I don't think you stopped smiling."

"Part of my smile had to do with you."

"I'm glad." He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. It reminds me of our first kiss the night President Santos accepted the nomination. "It's taken me the better part of nine years to realize something."

I look up at him with wide eyes. He looks anxious, like he's about to dive into a pool of freezing water.

"Realize what?"

"I've realized..." He licks his lips and straightens his posture as if gearing up for a speech. "It took me nine years to realize I'm in love with you, Donna. Painfully in love, in fact."

I throw my arms around him and bury my head in the crook of his neck. Josh pulls back enough to take my lips between his. The kiss is hungry. His hands dive into my hair and pull me closer. My hands roam up and down his muscular back.

"I feel the same," I say between kisses.

Josh wipes the side of my mouth. "Say it."

I blush. As much as I've dreamed of this moment, I'm a little nervous. I'm about to confess my love to Josh Lyman. It gives me goosebumps. "I love you."

He picks me up and twirls me. "We're in love?" he asks with enthusiasm.

When he puts me back down, I have trouble standing. "We are," I respond.

"We're in love." Josh brushes my hair behind my ears, then bends down to kiss me. It's the gentlest kiss we've shared tonight.

It doesn't take long for him to divest me of my clothing. It quite possibly takes less time for me to do the same to him. Neither of us lasts very long, but it's still incredibly fulfilling. I wonder if sex with Josh will be different every single time. I'm fascinated by that thought.

We fall asleep and wake up in the same position – both on our backs with my head resting where Josh's arm and shoulder meet. His hand is on my right hip.

"You awake?" he asks.

"Barely." I clear my throat and roll on my side, facing him. "How'd you sleep?"

He rubs my hip. "Like a baby."

My hand traces little circles on his chest. "Good."

"You wanna know something?" he asks, pulling me closer until I'm almost on top of him.

"Hmm?" I kiss his nipple.

"We're in love."

I look up to confirm Josh is smirking. I'm starting to play favorites with his dimples. I've noticed it takes just a quirk of his lips for the right dimple to surface, but his left one hides until there's a full-blown smile.

"Are you going to be this smug?" I ask, secretly enjoying his reaction. "Because your friends will not find you endearing."

"I don't care." Dimple number two makes an appearance.

"You'll be insufferable, which will make my life hell."

"How will that make your life hell?" Josh's fingers travel further south on my hip.

"Because CJ, Toby and everyone else will blame me for making you this way."

"I'll deal with them." He scoots down until our faces are even. "Cause I'm in love."

We have fiery morning sex, and Josh makes me scream on two occasions. He holds out until I do this thing with my hand that makes him nearly lose consciousness.

By 9 a.m., we roll out of bed and head to the main house after showering.

CJ, Maria and Sr. Catherine are talking at the kitchen table.

"Well, well. You decided to join us," Maria comments. "Let me look at you."

"Maria," I complain.

It's no use. She tugs my hand, forcing me to let go of Josh's. "Some kind of night." Maria winks.

"Sr. Catherine is right there," I whisper.

She hugs me. "I am happy for you."

"Thank you, Maria. Let's just, you know, keep quiet about the night stuff."

She nods. "Ok. We are having un gran prima colazione!"

"A big breakfast," I translate.

"I'm famished." Josh rubs his stomach.

"I bet you are," CJ comments. 

I nudge her arm and give her a look.

"How was the room, CJ?" I ask desperate to change subjects.

"It was perfect. The bed was comfortable, the pillow was firm. I slept better than I've slept in weeks."

I smile. "Good."

We enjoy breakfast together, and a few of the other guests join us. I watch Josh's interactions with everyone. He seems poised and comfortable. He hasn't stopped grinning. In fact, he's making it blatantly clear that he got laid last night. But since we're in love, I let it slide. I'll chastise him later. I'm sure CJ will do the same.

"What's on the agenda for today?" CJ asks.

"I thought I'd show you around Marlia and the nearest big, or bigger, city, Lucca."

"Sounds great. When do we leave?"

I keep trying to shove Josh's hand off my thigh. "Can you be ready in 30 minutes?"

She wipes her mouth with a napkin. "Sure can."

"Make that 45," Josh says, smirking.

I give him a pointed look. 

My glance isn't lost on CJ. "Look what you've done."

"Sorry." I shrug. I knew Josh's arrogance would be an issue.

I have a few words with Maria about our other guests, making sure they get the proper treatment. I showed her how to register and check-out guests on two occasions, so I hope she gets it right.

There's a part of me that feels guilty for leaving the hotel today. After all, it's the big re-opening weekend. However, everything has gone smoothly so far. All of the guests seem comfortable and easy to please. They're low maintenance. I have to compliment Lucia on her family and friends.

"We should get ready." Josh stands and offers me his hand.

"You're sure you're all right?" I ask Maria for the third time.

She yells at me in Italian to calm down. I respond in the same language, and Josh gets this twinkle in his eyes. I think I might have turned him on.

When we're back in the cottage and before the door is shut, Josh kisses me.

"A little anxious, Joshua?"

He kisses my jawline. "A little." With one hand, he shuts the door and slowly starts backing up. I'm assuming his goal is to make it to the bedroom.

I lean in and kiss him just as fiercely as he's kissing me. After about five minutes of teenage-like groping, Josh breaks the kiss.

"Did someone just knock?"

I crease my brow. "I don't think so." I resume the kissing.

He pulls away and looks at the door. "I could've sworn I heard a knock."

He's losing his mind. "Josh, no one knocked on the door. Now can we get back to this?" I kiss him on the lips, but he won't have any of it.

"Go check," he says.

I raise my eyebrows. "Seriously?"

He nods vigorously.

I walk three feet to the door and open it, looking to my right and left. I even step outside and survey the property. When I'm satisfied that no one is in the vicinity of the cottage, I close the door and lock it. "Like I said, no one's here. You should have your hearing checked when you get back to –"

When I turn to face Josh, he's on his knees.

"Are you ok?" I take a step closer to him.

"How long does it take to see if someone's at the door?" he asks with phony irritation. "I'm supposed to be on one knee, but it hurts."

My hands fly to my mouth, my feet are stuck to the ground, and tears fill my eyes.

Josh clenches his jaw as he digs in his pocket. His eyes are still focused on me. "There's a reason the President agreed to take this trip sooner rather than later."

"Josh." I blink rapidly, hoping to wake up if this is a dream.

He uses his index finger to signal me closer. I suppose it's easier for me to move to him than for him to slide on his knees toward me. It takes a modest amount of effort for me to remember to put one foot in front of the other. When I'm directly in front of him, I see the ring.

"I'm gonna, you know, stand."

I help him up, and he rubs his knees. "Whoever invented the whole down-on-one-knee thing should be shot."

I make sure he's well-balanced before releasing his arm. "I think the bended knee thing went out with the Cleavers anyway."

"So you're not upset that I'm breaking tradition?"

I smile. "When have you done anything traditional?"

"Missionary position twice last night." He smirks.

I slap his arm. "Josh!"

"What?" he flinches. "I can be traditional on occasion."

"Just not now," I state.

He shakes his head. "Just not now." Josh looks nervous. There are a few beads of sweat on his forehead. I reach up and wipe them with my sleeve.

He takes a deep breath and picks up my left hand, turning it over in his. He looks in my eyes before speaking. "In all my life, I've never felt the way I do when I'm with you." Josh's eyes well with tears. "And it's not just in person. Of course, there are several benefits to, you know, being in your presence." He smiles.

A few tears roll down my cheeks. One hits my lip, and I taste the saline.

"Whether it's reading your letters, getting your e-mails or talking to you on the phone, those moments are the highlights of my day." His expression becomes more serious. "Being with you – in DC or in Italy – is the highlight of my life."

I wipe the tears from my eyes, but it's futile as more come streaming down my face. 

"This ring has burned a hole in my pocket since two days after you left in December." He examines it. "I found it at an antique store in Georgetown, and ironically, it was crafted by an Italian jeweler. That's when I knew." Josh pauses. He looks at the ground and takes a deep breath. When he looks back at me, his eyes sparkle. "At that moment, I knew this was meant to be." He holds the ring out between his thumb and forefinger. "Donnatella Moss, I promise to love you, protect you, honor you, cherish you, and, God help me, obey you, as long as I live." His voice is shaky. "Marry me."

I bite my lip to keep from choking out several sobs, and I nod. Josh throws his arms around me, and I feel his tears through my thin shirt. I kiss whatever skin I can find, then pull back to look at his tear-stained face.

"I'm going to hold you to that 'obey' thing." I smile through the tears.

He shows me the ring. It's a stunning diamond surrounded by what appears to be hundreds of baguettes in a silver setting.

"Maybe we should remove that word. I think all the other ones are important, but 'obey' is a little strong," he says, slipping the ring on my finger.

"I think we should keep it. It might prove useful." I admire my left hand, then wipe Josh's tears away. "I cannot wait to marry you, Joshua."

He holds my face in both of his hands before kissing me with all of the love, devotion and honor he promised. We sit on the sofa and don't stop touching or kissing. I have a hard time deciding whether to focus on Josh or the ring. With the little kisses he's is placing behind my ear, I decide that my future husband has commanded my attention.

***  
This time there truly is a knock on the door.

"Don't answer it." One of his hands is massaging my neck, and the other is on my right breast.

"I have to, Josh." I try fixing my hair with my fingers. "What if it's an emergency?"

"Don't you think there'd be pounding?"

I release him and walk to the door, wiping the back of my hand across my cheeks to make sure all traces of tears are gone.

CJ is standing there with two pairs of shoes.

She doesn't look up. "I didn't know if we'd be doing a lot of walking, so I have these shoes for the walking, and these to, you know, look good."

"CJ?"

Finally she looks up. "Yes?"

I point with my left hand to the DKNY shoes. "Wear those. If you wear the Nike's, everyone will know you're a tourist."

She drops the shoes and pulls my left hand closer to her face. "No!" She gasps.

I nod vigorously.

"No!" A smile spreads across her face.

I feel Josh behind me. He places his open palm against my stomach.

"Yes," I respond. My cheeks hurt from smiling this much. "We're engaged!"

She makes a cooing sound and pulls me into a hug. "I knew it was going to happen eventually, but wow." She looks at my hand. "It looks better on you than I ever imagined."

"CJ was with me when I picked it out," Josh chimes in.

I turn slightly in his arms. "CJ was with you?"

"Yes, but notice I picked it out." He grins, but he looks a bit frightened.

"It's true, Donna." CJ holds up her hand. "Josh asked me to go ring shopping with him right after your visit in December. He didn't have enough faith in himself that he could pick out the perfect ring." She smirks at him.

"Well, he did a nice job," I say, admiring the ring.

"Just nice?" he asks.

"If you would've placed a hundred rings in front of me, Josh, and asked me to pick only one, I'd have chosen this one."

His eyes light up.

"I'm truly happy for both of you." CJ puts her hand on Josh's arm.

"Thank you," we say simultaneously.

"So does this mean we're not going to be tourists today?" she asks.

"Of course not!" I remove Josh's hand from my stomach but keep holding it. "Give us 15 minutes."

"Don't you want to tell Maria and Vincent?" Josh asks.

"I do, but that's going to be an hour-long thing. Let's just go on our morning outing, and we'll come back here for lunch. I'll tell them then."

Truth is, I'd love to tell Maria and Vincent about our engagement, but I don't want CJ's trip to turn into one big JoshDonna lovefest. I owe her more than that.

*  
We spend three hours in Lucca, exploring the Museo Nazionale di Palazzo Mansi, San Michele in Foro and San Frediano. I brought a thermos filled with caffe, which we drink at the top of the Palazzo Guinigi. The view from the tower is spectacular. I point out Albergo Girasole and the convent. If it was a clearer day, we could see all the way to Altopascio. Before we bike back to Marlia, I take CJ and Josh to Passeggiata delle Mura – walk on the walls. It's the weirdest park I've ever seen, but it's fun to traipse along the 40-feet walls without a railing.

As we're riding on the dirt road back to Marlia, I decide to take them to the piazza. I have a hard time watching the road, what with my fiance riding next to me, and a diamond ring staring at me on my left hand.

"Donna, I'm hungry," Josh complains.

"I could eat," CJ responds.

"We'll go to Osteria del Neni, Lucia's restaurant." I lead the way on my bicycle. "It's not open, but she'll make panini."

Within two minutes our being there, Lucia notices my ring. "Donnatella!" She gasps. "You're getting married?" She hugs me, then Josh.  
"You helped make this happen," Josh says.

"Nonsense." She touches my arm. "L'amor trova un senso."

I smile brightly. I was worried about Lucia's reaction, considering her past with Ricardo. However, she seems genuinely happy, ecstatic even.

Since I haven't told CJ how Josh proposed, I share the story with both women. They coo and put their hands to their hearts. Josh looks a little embarrassed. I grab his hand under the table.

Lucia pinches his cheek. "We will have a dinner tonight to celebrate."

"That's really not necess –"

"I will make my famous puttanesca," she interrupts. "A small gathering. You can tell the others about the engagement then."

Josh rubs my arm. "Thank you, Lucia."

I look at CJ to make sure she's ok with this. She appears overjoyed.

After lunch, we drink a bottle of Prosecco while Lucia shares the history of Florence with us. She promises to take Josh and CJ to her hometown next time they visit.

We return to Albergo Girasole after 4 pm. I tell Josh to walk to the convent if he wants to get an earful about Italian politics. (I later tell him about my guilt concerning CJ's visit and too much celebration over our engagement. He understands, but I think he would've gone to see Sr. Catherine even without that explanation.)

I check in with Maria to ensure our guests had a pleasant stay. She assures me everything went smoothly. Maria excuses herself to clean the rooms. We have another two visitors coming tonight.

CJ and I spend the next hour and a half on the veranda, enjoying the mild temperature and a bottle of wine.

"You guys sure do drink a lot," she comments.

I chuckle. "We do. The wine doesn't give most people hangovers like American wine or even imports. The wine sold back home contains sulfites. In Italy, there are no sulfites and less hangovers."

"A little bit of insider information from the future Mrs. Lyman." She grins and clinks her glass to mine.

I get butterflies in my stomach at the sound of that. I'm going to be Donna Moss-Lyman. I try covering my blush with my hand.

It doesn't take long to finish the bottle. We laugh, talk about old times, and share stories of past loves. I think even this short time I've dedicated to CJ means a lot to her. It means a lot to me too.

When Josh returns, he's bouncing. He goes on at length about Italy's political system. Most of what he says is negative, but there are a few things he vows to bring back to the President.

As he and CJ discuss the value of a prime minister, I watch Josh. I miss seeing him like this. He's animated. When he talks about politics or gets an idea in his head, it's like watching a wind-up doll with dimples.

I realize I have a lot of soul searching ahead of me. On the one hand, I've made a name for myself in Marlia. Within a year, I think Albergo Girasole will be a premier destination in Tuscany. I have so much left to do to make it a highly acclaimed hotel. I'm excited about that prospect. On the other hand, the man I've loved for nine years just proposed to me. I want to be his wife more than anything, but that means I'm going to have to give up all of this.

I decide to allow myself to bask in the glow of my engagement as long as Josh is here. After he leaves, I'll start contemplating my next move.

*  
My announcement at Lucia's restaurant shocks everyone. Maria cries, Stella begs to see the ring, Dante and Anna share a passionate kiss, and Vincent smiles and claps. Sr. Catherine is the first to congratulate me. She says I've found a "fireball degno mantenere" – "fireball worth keeping."

We drink eight bottles of wine and two bottles of limoncello throughout the night. Josh claims to have never eaten a finer meal. This pleases Lucia immensely.

Just like last night, Josh and I get separated after dinner. I don't mind that these people want to get to know him. In fact, I'm honored. While he's being interrogated, I sit down with Maria and Vincent. I don't want either of them to think I'm deserting them. 

"We are truly happy for you, Donnatella," Maria says, holding my hand.

Vincent examines the ring and smiles.

"Thank you." I look down. "I'm not leaving, Maria."

When I look up at her, she has tears in her eyes.

"You are engaged," she says. "What kind of marriage begins with living thousands of miles apart?"

I take a deep breath. "We haven't discussed it yet."

"You've done so much for us, for the property. Your grandmother would be proud, Donnatella." Maria squeezes my hand. "Of what you've done and what you're about to do."

I release her hand and quickly wipe my eyes. "I hope so."

She stands and gives me one of her ferocious hugs. "Now, go and enjoy this celebration! We can talk about everything later."

Instead of joining the party, I go for a short walk outside. There's been a nagging in the back of my mind all day. Josh said he wasn't proposing to get me to come home, but Maria's right. What will an engagement or marriage be without proximity? We're going to have to discuss our living arrangements. I'm not looking forward to it.

A big part of me wants to stay in Marlia to run the hotel and be with my friends. However, I want desperately to be with Josh. When I think of him as my fiancé, I grin like an idiot. Just the thought of him makes me happy.

When I go back inside, the room is filled with laughter and chatter. CJ and Lucia seem to have hit it off. Vincent, Maria and Sr. Catherine appear to be enjoying Stella and Stefan's musical performance. And Josh is talking to Dante. It's almost exactly as I pictured it when I went to Siena with the Raguzzi family. Not for the first time tonight, I smile and get a little choked up.

 

*  
As soon as we arrive back at the cottage, Josh throws a few logs into the fireplace and balls up some newspaper. He lights several matches and throws them into the hearth. The newspaper catches with the fourth match. Josh stands back with a nervous expression.

I stand next to him. "When was the last time you started a fire?"

He shrugs, still eyeing the small flame.

"Eight years ago in the White House?" I ask. "Does that ring a bell?"

"There was a problem with the wood." He faces me, still looking a bit nervous. His leg is bouncing.

I put my hands on my hips. "The fireplace was sealed shut, Josh."

"Well, yeah, but still." He sucks in a short breath. "The wood was, you know."

I take his hand and lead him to the sofa. He glances at the fire. His nerves seem to subside as the wood catches, and there's no sign of smoke in the house.

"You did it." I grin, rubbing his thigh with my left hand and admiring the way my ring sparkles.

"Was there ever any doubt?" The cocky smirk has replaced the unsettling scowl.

"Josh," I warn.

"Yeah." He adjusts on the sofa so that one arm is behind me, supporting my neck. The other is playing with my ring. "Tonight was nice."

I let out a content sigh. "It was."

"I think everyone enjoyed it."

I look up at Josh. "Who called while we were at dinner?"

He shifts. "What do you mean?"

I pull my knee on the sofa, creating some distance between us. Josh's arm is still around my shoulders.

"You were singing with Stella and Stefan, and you excused yourself." I pause. "I saw you outside, talking on your phone."

He looks at his lap. "Ronna called once, and Bram left two messages."

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "You have to leave," I state rather than ask.

He sighs.

"When?" I ask.

"As soon as possible."

I raise my eyebrows. "Tonight?"

He tries to smile, but it isn't very convincing. "I'll wait until morning."

"Josh, if you have to staff the –"

He interrupts me with a finger on my lips. "There's no way I'm leaving you tonight, Donna."

I lean in and place a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'll drive you wherever you need to go."

He holds my hand. "They're sending a car. I'm flying out of Pisa."

I lower my head. This is going to be our last night together. I don't know when I'll go back to DC, and Josh probably won't come back to Italy for another six months. 

I take a deep breath. "I don't want to put a damper on our engagement, but we should discuss where we're going from here."

He troubles his bottom lip. "I'm not expecting you to come home now, if that's what you mean."

"No," I quickly respond. "You made that clear last night." I look into his eyes. "It's just...we're engaged, and we should be together."

He lets out an incredulous chuckle. "I'm the Chief of Staff for the President of the United States. I hardly think the public would look favorably upon me advising the President from Italy."

I give him a disappointed look. "That's not what I meant."

"We're at an impasse." He shrugs. "We're almost exactly where we were three months ago."

I look down at my ring. The firelight makes it shine even more. "So you're fine with an indefinite engagement?"

"Do I seem fine?" 

He does not.

I raise my hands. "Then what do you suggest?"

Josh takes a slow, deep breath. I feel his hand start to move on my back. "If you're still happy here in four years, I'll move."

"You'll move," I say in a doubting tone.

He nods. "And if you think you could operate the hotel from DC with a visit to Marlia every month, you'll move back home."

I never really considered that option.

"Which would you prefer?" I ask.

He kisses my forehead. "Whichever one makes you happier."

"Seriously," I say again with a doubting tone.

"Seriously." He places an open-mouthed kiss on my collarbone.

I tilt my head, giving him more access to my neck. "See, that's where the 'obey' thing comes in handy."

He chuckles against my neck, and it tickles.

"I told you, 'obey' is out."

"In."

"Out."

"Josh, it's in. Live with it." I snake a hand up the front of his shirt and rub his chest.

"Ok." He gently pushes me down, and we make love on the sofa.

***  
When I wake up in the morning, I'm alone in bed. I smile at the dent on the pillow next to me. "Josh?"

He doesn't answer.

I stretch as I get out of bed, not remembering how I got here. I walk into the kitchen to find a note and a cup of very dark, very thick coffee.

_Donna,_

_I tried making coffee, but the machine exploded. There's a slight chance it's broken._

_See you next door,  
Josh_

I step further into the kitchen to see what damage he's caused. Shaking my head and grinning, I mutter to myself, "I'm marrying an idiot."

After brushing my teeth, washing my face and getting dressed, I walk over to Albergo Girasole to find CJ, Josh, Maria, and Sr. Catherine at the table eating breakfast.

"Good morning," CJ says, raising her coffee mug to me.

"Hi, CJ." I keep my eyes focused on Josh.

He scoots over and shoves a huge orange slice into his mouth. "Notice I'm eating fruit," he says around a mouthful.

Josh doesn't eat fruit on his own volition. He must be trying to make up with me because of breaking what he assumes is my coffeemaker.

"I see that," I comment.

Maria walks from the kitchen to the dining area with a hot cup of coffee for me. "Buongiorno, Donnatella."

I take the mug from her and smile. "Grazie, Maria." I set it down in front of me, then turn my attention back to Josh. "Joshua?"

He swallows hard. "Yes?"

I bat my eyes at him. "Do you know what you did this morning?"

"This ought to be good." CJ grins.

"Tried making coffee so I could bring it to you in bed?" He looks adorable, but I don't say as much.

"Perhaps that's what you _think_ you did."

"I didn't actually do that," he states.

"No, you didn't." I wipe a crumb off his chin with my thumb. "Josh, do you know how to make coffee?"

He looks at his empty cup. "Yes."

"Funny," I say, scooting closer to him. "I don't think you do."

His eyes focus on my mouth.

"You know how I know that?" I blow on my hot coffee, then take a sip. I continue staring at him.

He gulps. "How?"

"Because you used the juicer!" I raise my voice.

CJ lets out one of her infectious laughs. Maria joins her. Sr. Catherine slaps her knee and giggles.

"That thing with the black lid and the funny lever is a juicer?" he asks.

My hand hits the table with exasperation. "Didn't you think it looked strange?"

"Nothing in the kitchen remotely resembled a coffeemaker, Donna." His voice goes up an octave. "I took my best shot."

I cradle my head in my hands.

"Oh, Josh. That's good. That's really good," CJ comments, still laughing.

Maria stands and pats him on the back. "You are not very domestic."

"I am!" He yells.

Maria scowls.

Josh hunkers down. "I can be."

I steal an apple slice from his plate. "What is it with you and coffee?"

"That's alright, you're all going to miss me when I'm gone," he says, putting his hand on my knee under the table.

"And when might that be?" CJ asks.

"Actually, today."

Everyone stops laughing and averts their eyes.

"Josh, I'm sorry. I didn't–"

"Don't worry about it, CJ." He stands and takes a deep breath. "This has been wonderful." He looks at each person in the room. "Maria, thank you for your hospitality and warmth."

She tilts her head. "Prego, Joshua."

"Sr. Catherine, if you ever consider defecting, you know who to call." He smirks.

"Same to you, young man."

"CJ, I'll see you back in DC in a couple days."

"Are you leaving this morning?" Maria asks.

He lowers his head. "I have to get back to Rome to do my job."

She pulls him aside, and I overhear part of their conversation.

"The other night at the grand opening," he starts.

"Yes?" Maria asks.

"You weren't talking to me about onions, were you?"

"Onions?"

"Forget about it." He puts his hand on her arm. "Thank you again, Maria. Look out for her." He pokes his head in my direction.

"I promise." She hugs him. After Maria releases Josh, Sr. Catherine waits for her turn. He embraces her, then takes my hand. We walk outside together.

"I should pack," he says.

I nod and follow him inside.

It doesn't take long for Josh to shove his clothing and toiletries into his bag. The atmosphere in the room is similar to when I left DC to return to Marlia. We don't exchange many words.

A black car pulls into the driveway and a man gets out. He pops the trunk and stands next to the car with his hands in his pockets.

"This part is the worst." Josh puts his forehead against mine and rubs my back. "I'll call you from Rome."

I don't meet his eyes. "Ok."

He lifts my chin. "Think about what I said, Donna."

I haven't stopped thinking about most of what Josh said throughout the trip. But I know what he's referring to – moving back to DC.

"I will." Finally, I look at him. "I love you."

He kisses me soundly. "I love you too, Donnatella Moss."

I try smiling.

He wipes my lips with his thumb. "I'll call." He raises his eyebrows as if to punctuate the statement. With that, Josh is gone. I watch him adjust the bag on his shoulder and shake the driver's hand. He opens the car door and waves one last time.

I keep my tears in check until he's gone. As the car drives away, I cry.

CJ comes outside when the sedan is no longer in sight. She puts her arm around my shoulders. "You're going to be fine."

I nod. "Yeah." I wipe two teardrops from my cheeks.

"Let's go inside."

I spend the next couple of hours talking to Maria, Vincent and CJ about my options. They ask me pointed questions, and I do my best to answer truthfully. I think they know what I'm going to decide. I can see it in Maria's eyes.


	10. Incrocio

Lucia arrives to pick CJ and I up for a tour of the Chianti  
hillside. Last night, she offered to take us on this tour, but I'd  
completely forgotten. I decide to stay behind, but encourage CJ to  
go along for the scenic drive. She exitedly agrees.

This gives me some much needed time alone. I reread one of my  
grandmother's journals and look at old photographs of Albergo  
Girasole. It's comforting to know this is what my grandmother  
wanted. I've made it happen, and I know she'd be pleased.

There are five entries in one of Nonna's journals that I didn't have  
the heart to read when I first arrived in Marlia. Today, I decide to  
read my grandmother's final thoughts. Each entry is primarily about  
her cancer and the lack of treatment. She didn't sound sad or  
disheartened by the diagnosis. Instead, she seemed organized  
and...ready. It seems my grandmother wasn't afraid to die.

All of her entries in the past were in perfectly legible handwriting;  
however, her last entry looks like chicken scratch. Knowing she was  
dying makes my heart plummet.

*  
 _September 2006_

_Yesterday, the doctor told me I might live another year. I didn't  
have the heart to tell him he was wrong. I feel it in my bones. I'm  
dying. In fact, I don't think I have another week left in me._

_I find it silly when someone tells me they keep a journal, but they  
don't write their true feelings inside. They're afraid someone might  
discover their innermost thoughts and secrets. I think that's  
absurd! By the time someone reads this journal (and all of my  
others), I'll be long gone. I won't care if someone discovers  
something about me that no one before them knew. Isn't that one of  
the joys of journaling?_

_As I'm about to say goodbye to this world, I thought I'd mention my  
two regrets. The first is that I didn't get to watch my  
granddaughters grow up. And it will hurt her sister's feelings if  
she ever found out, but Donnatella is my true inspiration. I  
followed her as much as I could through newspapers and radio. She's  
a spitfire. I can't explain it, but I have a connection to  
Donnatella. It breaks my heart that I won't meet her as an adult.  
If she ever reads this or speaks to someone who does, she should know  
how proud I am of her._

_My second regret is never falling in love. What I had with Robert  
was a strong infatuation in the beginning and an almost loathing at  
the end. A little girl I tutored last month asked me if I believed  
in true love. I haven't stopped thinking about that question. Truth  
is, I do believe. I've seen it with Dante and Anna and at times,  
Vincent and Maria. I wish I could've felt like that with a man. I  
can imagine no greater joy than sharing my life with someone I was  
truly, deeply in love with. (I'm dying. That gives me every right  
to end a sentence with a preposition.)_

_My one true love, my constant, has been Albergo Girasole. I was  
never happier than when I was gardening or putting fresh linens on  
the guest beds. Working on and running this hotel has made my life  
incredibly full. I will miss it terribly, as well as my friends in  
Marlia. God bless them all._

 

*  
I've stained these pages with my tears. How could I have not read  
this entry before now? I wish my Nonna was still alive. I wish I  
could've had at least one conversation with her so she could tell me  
what to do. I want to run Albergo Girasole. It has become a  
passion; however, I have the one thing my grandmother didn't. Would  
she expect me to walk away from Albergo Girasole to be with Josh?  
Would _she_ have been able to walk away if the right man came along?

There was never any instruction for me to run the hotel after I  
finished the renovations, but I feel an obligation. I've felt this  
obligation since the very beginning. However, as strongly as I felt  
about returning to Marlia after my trip to DC in December, I'm  
beginning to feel the reverse now. It's not that I love Josh more  
now than I did three months ago. I love him just the same. Perhaps  
it's a different kind of love, a more permanent feeling. The bottom  
line is that I _do_ love him. And loving Josh makes me happier than  
anything I've ever done and will most likely ever do.

I sigh and put my head in my hands. I need to take inventory of what  
I've accomplished and what I still want to do, not just at Albergo  
Girasole, but in my life. Coming to this country and choosing to  
stay here for nearly six months was a conscious decision. Just as I  
feel I made the correct decision by driving across the country to  
work on the Bartlet for America campaign, I feel living in Marlia has  
been the right choice. Both decisions have changed my life.

I learned more about politics and ethics in six weeks working for  
then Governor Bartlet than I did in 15 years of schooling. I learned  
more about _myself_ in six weeks in Marlia than I did in eight years  
in the White House. The one constant through it all has been my  
devotion to Josh.

I'm not sure if I'd categorize my feelings for him in the early years  
as being "in love." I loved him, no doubt, but it was such a  
forbidden topic that I refused to allow myself to go too far. In  
fact, I didn't admit to myself I was "in love" with him until our  
third year in office.

It wasn't an extraordinary situation. Josh hadn't complimented me or  
done anything particularly sweet. We weren't drunk or even drinking  
at the time. It was an ordinary rainy day. I remember because Josh  
had forgotten his umbrella, so his hair was soaking wet when he  
returned to work after lunch. We were in the middle of a  
conversation about a Chinese oil company that put in a bid to buy an  
American oil company. He presented one side of the story, while I  
presented the other. Watching Josh get so animated about something  
 _that_ boring excited me. And that's when I knew.

I love the way his eyes light up when he believes in a cause. I love  
how he uses his hands when he talks. I love the thousands of looks  
he has for five emotions. I love his mind, his heart and his  
determination. I won't even get into his physical appearance. The  
thought of his naked body next to mine for the rest of my life gives  
me goosebumps.

This brings me back to what I've accomplished and what I have yet to  
do. So far I've helped get a man elected President of the United  
States, worked as a key figure in the White House, fell in love,  
tried to get another man elected President, moved to a foreign  
country, learned a new language, and restored an old hotel. Oh yeah,  
and got engaged to the man I fell in love with in the first place.

What I still want to do: marry Josh, own a home with Josh, have  
children with Josh, get my degree, and operate Albergo Girasole.

Maybe I _can_ accomplish my goals by living in DC. I feel a smile  
tugging at the corners of my mouth, but I don't allow it to fully  
surface. There's too much to do before finalizing any decision.

 

***  
Lucia and CJ arrive back at Albergo Girasole just before dinner.

"Welcome back," I say. CJ's carrying two bags, and Lucia has a case  
of wine. "I see you've done some damage."

"I can't begin to describe the beauty of this region," CJ says,  
setting her bags down and taking the box from Lucia. "We stopped at  
two wineries and several olive farms."

I peek in the bags. There are three jars of olives, two bottles of  
olive oil, and two more bottles of wine. "You bought the good stuff."

"I took her to Brufani's," Lucia states.

"Ah." I nod. "Did you have fun?"

"We had a blast." CJ plops in the armchair. "I'm seriously  
considering moving here."

I nudge her shoulder. "Hey, the more the merrier."

"Something smells delicious," CJ says.

"Thank you, Claudia Jean. Now wash up and come to eat." Maria sets  
a tray of stuffed artichokes on the table. "Lucia, you must stay for  
dinner."

"I'd love to, but my restaurant calls." Lucia hugs CJ. "It was a  
pleasure meeting you, Claudia Jean. I hope you return to Marlia  
soon."

"I can't thank you enough, Lucia."

"I will see you tomorrow, Donnatella," she says before leaving.

"Sounds good. Thanks again."

"Prego."

We have an extraordinary dinner without mentioning my situation. We  
also consume a lot less wine than usual. CJ compliments Maria on the  
passutelli – ravioli stuffed with ricotta cheese, herbs and fruit.  
She's even more excited about the tiramisu for dessert.

Both CJ and I are tired after a long weekend and exhausting day, so  
we turn in early. I have trouble sleeping, thinking of Josh. When I  
finally fall asleep, it's morning.

*  
CJ and I tour the Tower of Pisa before I drop her off at the  
airport. She expresses her gratitude. I apologize for being a less-  
than-perfect hostess. She dismisses my statement.

"This is something everyone has to experience," she says. "I'll say  
it again, congratulations, Donna. You are truly a remarkable woman."

I blush. "Thank you. It means a lot coming from you."

Impressing CJ is not an easy task. I can count on one hand the  
number of times she's complimented me on more than just the way I  
looked or something I said. This time, this tribute, means more than  
all the others combined.

We hug one last time before I return to my life in Marlia.

***  
Over the next two weeks, I immerse myself in the business of running  
the hotel. Word has spread quickly, and we're booked nearly every  
night through April. It helps that we're the cheapest decent hotel  
within a 15-mile radius. I refuse to consider raising prices until  
we're well-established. That's not going to take as long as I  
thought.

When I'm not greeting guests, perfecting the reservation system, or  
ordering supplies, I'm looking for a qualified hotel manager. Maria,  
Vincent and I agree that if I can find someone who would run the  
hotel in my absence whom we all adored, they'd be comfortable with my  
move back to DC. I promise them I'll stay a full year if necessary.

I pour through 30 resumes, but meet with only seven candidates. The  
one who I thought would do a good job withdrew his name. It doesn't  
matter anyway because Maria despises all of them.

That is until Frances Ruffalo shows up.

*  
Maria and I spend the mornings going through the guest list and  
accommodating any special requests. Some guests require a roll away  
bed, while others request firm pillows. Sometimes I have to go to  
Lucca to buy whatever they want. Maria tells me my grandmother used  
to do the same thing. She said it was important to exceed the  
guests' expectations.

"Ah, Frances Ruffalo. I haven't seen this name in a very long time," Maria says, looking at the guest roster.

I stop typing on the computer and look up. "You know her?"

"Si. She and her husband stayed at Albergo Girasole several times  
when Sofia was alive." Maria casts her eyes upward, as if paying  
respects to my Nonna. "Frances loved this place. She always wrote  
thank you notes and left a nice tip. Her husband even helped Vincent  
hang a mirror once."

I stand and look at the guest roster. "She's checking in today."

"It will be nice to see her." Maria smiles.

*  
Frances Ruffalo is a tall, thin woman who appears to be in her mid-  
40s. Her dark hair is up in a loose knot at the base of her neck.  
Despite her lack of makeup, Frances is beautiful. She looks like she  
could be related to Lucia.

"Maria? I'm not sure if you remember me, but I stayed here a few  
times when Sofia Bova was alive." She looks hesitant.

"Frances." Maria stands. "How good it is to see you." She gives the  
younger woman a hug.

Frances lowers her head. "I'm so sorry about Sofia."

"Thank you." Maria bows her head and straightens her frock. "I was  
just telling Donnatella about you." She gestures toward me. "This  
is Sofia's granddaughter."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Frances shakes my hand. "I was  
pleased to hear Albergo Girasole had opened its doors again."

"I hope it meets your expectations," I say, tucking a piece of hair  
behind my ear.

I finish checking Frances and her husband in while Maria converses  
with both of them in Italian. I don't think Maria knows I can  
understand Italian almost as well as English now.

She's telling Frances about the restoration. She mentions my role at  
the hotel and expresses her sorrow that I'm moving back to DC.  
Frances asks Maria if she and Vincent will be in charge of the  
hotel. Maria says it's too much work for both of them, and they  
enjoy being the caretakers instead of the managers.

After Maria shows the Ruffalos to their room, she and Vincent take  
their afternoon nap. I finish some edits to the website that I  
neglected while Josh and CJ were here.

"Excuse me, Donnatella?"

I turn my head to see Frances standing at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Yes?"

"I can't believe how much this place has improved," she says. "Not  
that it was rundown before," she quickly adds.

"Thank you," I say. "The renovations took six months, but I think it  
was worth it."

"Indeed." She looks around the salone. "The last time I was here,  
one of the bathrooms was out of order, and there was a problem with  
the furnace."

"One of our major projects was installing new plumbing." I smile.

"That must not have been an easy task." She examines the armchairs  
across from where I'm sitting. "Are these new?"

"Maria and I sewed new slipcovers." I set my laptop on the coffee table.

"Good idea." She spins to her right, admiring the fireplace. "That  
vent is magnificent. You must've had it repainted."

"Yes," I say. "I bought a few thin paintbrushes and went to work."

"You did this?"

I nod.

She smiles. "You're quite talented."

I shrug. "That was one of my easier tasks."

"I've always dreamed of fixing up and running an old inn." Frances  
sits next to me. "Adding special touches to each room, cooking a big  
breakfast every morning, greeting guests from all over the world."

My eyes light up. "Seriously?"

"Sure." She laughs. "Who wouldn't want to do something like that?"

I lean closer to her. "Frances, I think I can make your dream come  
true."

I have no intention of sharing my life story with this woman, but  
she's incredibly easy to talk to. She asks great questions and  
listens to every word. When I get to the part about Josh's visit, I  
think she understands my predicament.

"If you'll allow me to comment," she begins.

"Of course," I say, folding one leg under the other.

"I've never been a big fan of tradition. My husband and I eloped."  
She chuckles. "But it sounds to me like you've found il vostro  
cuore."

I smile and think of Lucia's names for Josh. "My heart" is one of  
her favorites.

She lowers her head. "I think you should be with your fiancé,  
Donnatella."

"I've gone back and forth on this issue too many times to count." I  
take a deep breath. "I know you're right. I need to be with him. I  
 _want_ to be with him. It's just that I've done all this work on the  
hotel and –"

Frances raises her hand. "You feel guilty for leaving. You feel  
like if something goes wrong, it would be your fault."

"Exactly." I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, I've found someone  
besides CJ who fully understands.

"Donnatella?" There's a sparkle in her eye as she leans forward. "I  
think I can make your dream come true."

I hug Frances for all I'm worth.

*  
Maria, Vincent, the Ruffalos and I have a conversation lasting into  
the night. Everyone agrees that Frances is the perfect person to run  
the hotel in my absence. She lives in Camigliano, which is a short  
commute from Marlia.

Maria agrees to work at the front desk on Tuesdays and Wednesdays so  
that Frances can work during the busy weekends and have a couple of  
days off during the week. Even Anthony Ruffalo volunteers to help  
out on the weekends when necessary.

After this delightful development, I'm dying to call Josh. But  
before I do, I have a private conversation with Maria and Vincent.

"Are you sure you're both ok with this?"

"We couldn't ask for a better manager," Maria says. "My prayers have  
been answered."

This makes me smile widely. "You know I wouldn't have left without  
your blessing."

Vincent touches my arm. "Si, Donnatella."

I cover his hand with mine. "I'm still going to operate the website  
and handle the behind the scenes stuff like ordering supplies and  
monitoring reservations from the web."

Maria nods.

"Most of what I do is on the computer anyway," I add.

She looks at her husband, then back at me. "We are so thankful to  
you."

"And I'm thankful to you," I respond in a whisper.

"Come here, Donnatella!" She pulls Vincent and I into her embrace.

When she releases me, I smile. "I'll train Frances and wrap things  
up this week. If it's ok with you, I think I'm going to go home next  
Friday."

Just saying those words makes my heart leap. Going home to Josh is  
becoming a reality.

***  
Despite the late hour, I'm sure Josh is still at work. Nevertheless,  
I call him on his cell.

"The last time you called at 3 am, you were a drunken mess," he  
answers.

"I can assure you, I'm not drunk." I smile. "How are you?"

"Tired." I hear him stretch. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes." I string him along a little bit. "What are you working on?"

"Filling the gaps in securities law," he sighs.

"Sounds exciting," I lie.

"It's been slow around here."

"Then why are you still at work?"

I imagine him shrugging. "Nothing else to do on a Thursday night."

"Josh?"

"Hmm?"

I lick my lips. "What would make you happier than anything else in  
the world?"

"Well, I already got President Santos elected. That's gonna stick  
for a while." I'm sure he's smirking.

"I'm being serious, Josh."

He takes in a long breath. "Marrying you."

The man can be impossibly sweet.

"What else?"

"I don't know. Cheaper gas, less traffic, world peace. Those things  
would make me happy."

"My coming home?" I ask. "Would that make you happy?"

"Well, there's that." It amazes me how this man can go from sweet to  
cocky in less than five seconds.

"Tonight I've made a woman's dream come true. And by doing that, I'm  
pretty sure I'm making our dreams come true, too."

I think he just dropped the phone.

"Josh?"

"I'm here! What did you say?"

I bite my lower lip. "I'm coming home, Josh. For good."

"Tell me you're serious."

"Swear to God," I reply.

He tells me how long he's waited to hear those words. Once again, he  
reminds me that the decision is mine. He doesn't care how long the  
engagement lasts or if Italy makes me happier than DC. He reminds me  
of his promise to move to Marlia in four years. I interrupt him,  
confirming my decision to return home.

I tell him about Frances Ruffalo and my conversation with Maria and  
Vincent. He asks if they truly support my plan. I promise they do.

"Are we talking a month or two?"

"I'm not sure yet," I lie. "Do you have any trips planned?"

I think he's looking at his calendar. "Not until Boston next month."

"So you'll be in DC until then?"

"Unless something unexpected comes up. I could always send Ronna."  
He pauses. "For good?"

I giggle. "Yes."

We talk for a few more minutes until I can hardly keep my eyes open.  
I promise to inform him when I'm flying home. He begs me not to  
surprise him. "I don't think my heart could take it," he says.

I might not surprise him, but I'm not giving him much time to  
prepare. If I did, I fear he'd concentrate more on my return than on  
running the country. On second thought, I doubt anything could take  
his mind off politics. Well, I know something that might, but he's  
going to have to wait a week for it.

*  
I spend the week working 12-hour days to ensure the hotel will run  
smoothly when I leave. Frances is a quick study. I teach her how to  
do something one day, and the next, she teaches me a shortcut or how  
to do it better. She gets along brilliantly with Maria and Sr.  
Catherine. Lucia, Anna and Dante adore her.

I found out this morning that in addition to Italian and English,  
Frances also speaks Portuguese, French and Spanish. She's going to be  
better at this than I ever imagined. It gives me an incredible  
amount of relief.

On Thursday, Maria and Lucia help me pack.

"When are you coming back?" Lucia asks, folding a pair of linen pants.

"I'll fly in once a month through June," I state. "We'll see how it  
goes after that."

"It will almost be like you never left," she says.

"That's the plan." I smile. "Besides, there's no way I'll get  
authentic Italian food anywhere in the US."

She laughs. "Every time you visit, I will prepare something special."

I zip one suitcase. "That's not necessary, Lucia, but thank you."

She hugs me. "I will miss you."

Maria looks at the floor. "We all will."

"You guys!" I stomp my foot in mild agitation. "We agreed not to do  
this. I'll be back before you know it."

The two women look at each other.

"You're right," Maria says. "You will be back in 30 days. Just in  
time for the olive festival."

While we finish packing, we share stories of my first few weeks in  
Marlia. We laugh so hard, I have to sit down.

After Lucia leaves and Maria heads off to bed, I take a stroll around  
the property. The automatic sprinkler system I installed startles me  
and gets me a little wet. I'm surprised that the orange and lemon  
trees are still producing fruit in March. I admire the garden, the  
walkway, the shutters and the front entrance. I smile when I look at  
the two new gas lanterns on either side of the door.

My grandmother would've loved this. Albergo Girasole mirrors the  
pictures from 1979 when the hotel was at the height of its glory.  
The guest rooms are freshly painted and the bathrooms are luxurious.  
The furniture looks brand new. While there've been many improvements  
to the hotel, it still has a warm, inviting feeling. When I walk  
back to the cottage, I hold my head a little higher. I'm so proud,  
and I know Sofia Bova would be, too.

*  
Before I go to sleep, I send Josh an e-mail.

 

_Joshua,_

_Don't bother replying to this e-mail. By the time you get it, I'll  
be on a plane._

_Alitalia 587, 6:55 p.m., Dulles_

_Don't be late,  
Donna_

***  
I'm restless on the plane. I can't seem to get comfortable, and I  
certainly can't fall asleep. My heart is beating so fast I wonder if  
I should take some kind of high blood pressure medicine. Or, you  
know, a sedative. I decide instead to look at the magazine I bought  
in the Pisa airport: "Modern Bride".

I'm leaning toward an off-the-shoulder dress with a scalloped top,  
but I can't decide between ivory and white. I think CJ and Lucia  
should pick out the bridesmaid's dresses, but any shade of purple is  
out of the question.

I doubt Josh has any preconceived notions about our wedding, so I  
decide to make a list of things I'd like. First, the wedding will be  
at Albergo Girasole. I'll pay for our closest friends to fly to  
Italy if necessary. Second, it's going to be in late September. If  
we could get married on the day I arrived in Marlia, that would be  
spectacular. Third, the ceremony will be in Italian and English. I  
won't make Josh learn Italian, but for Vincent's benefit and simply  
because it's is a beautiful language, I want at least part of the  
ceremony to be in Italian. Fourth, I will not have a maid of honor.  
CJ and Lucia will stand up for me, and they'll play an equal part in  
the wedding. Josh can have whoever he wants as his best man, but I  
think he'll ask Sam and Toby to be equals. Finally, Josh and I will  
honeymoon in Florence, Siena and the Cinque Terre. I don't think  
he'll have a problem with that. In fact, I could just hear him  
now: "As long as they have beds, I don't care where we go."

Upon completing my list and after skimming 100 pages of hideous  
dresses and floral arrangements, I hear the pilot announce our final  
decent. In about 15 minutes, I will be in Josh's arms.

I get stuck behind an elderly lady in a wheelchair, so it takes me a  
bit longer than I'd hoped to reach the no-restriction area of  
Dulles. When I do, I see Josh standing off to the side, looking in  
the wrong direction. I stop in my tracks just to stare at him.

He's wearing a charcoal suit with an olive and yellow patterned tie.  
His jacket is unbuttoned, and one hand is in his pants pocket. His  
hair is a mess, just as I thought it would be. He's shaking one leg  
and clenching his jaw. He looks eager, but he seems at peace. Josh  
looks remarkably different than he did after the DNC convention over  
six months ago. I don't think I've ever heard anyone describe a man  
as "glowing," but there's no other word that fits.

I take a few steps forward until he sees me. A smile slowly spreads  
across his face until his dimples nearly fill his cheeks. I'm sure  
my smile mirrors his. I shake my head and bite my lower lip, not  
believing this day is finally here.

Josh walks toward me, but a security guard stops him when he crosses  
a red line.

"Whoa," the guard says. He follows Josh's stare. "I'd be anxious  
too, my friend, but just do me a favor and stand behind the line."

Josh takes a step back, never removing his eyes from mine.

I increase my pace until I'm almost jogging. When I cross the line,  
Josh throws his arms around me, and I bury my face in the crook of  
his neck. He places one hand on the back of my head and lifts me off  
the ground.

"I'm home," I whisper.

Josh wastes no time devouring my mouth. It isn't the kind of kiss I  
normally approve of in public, but at this moment, I don't care. He  
could strip me down and make love to me right here, and I don't think  
I'd stop him. Fortunately for the people around us, Josh has more  
class than that.

"Welcome back, Donnatella." He cradles my face in his hands.

I kiss him gently. "I never thought this day would come."

He shakes his head. "Neither did I." He hugs me again.

Something in his pocket keeps sticking me in the thigh. I pull  
back. "What is this?" I pat his leg.

Josh tugs me to the side and digs in his pocket. He holds up a small  
envelope.

I crinkle my brow.

"Open it." He grins.

I undo the clasp and flip the envelope over, emptying the contents  
into my hand. It's a keychain with two keys dangling from a silver  
loop.

"Read the label." He points to a small white tag.

"12 Tuscany Circle," I say aloud. "I don't understand." I think I'm  
stuttering.

Josh's smirk turns into a very sweet smile.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. "You didn't...You bought a house?"

He nods vigorously.

"You bought *our* house?" I ask.

"No, Donna, I thought I'd live in a three bedroom, two and a half  
bath house all alone," he quips.

"Josh!" I throw my arms around him once again and cover his face with  
kisses.

"When? How? I can't believe this!" I say, pulling back and staring at  
the keys.

"I started looking at houses in the paper, but I had no intention of  
buying one before you were back. I was on my way to the bank one  
day, and I passed this house. It was too good to be true." He points  
at the keychain. "Look at the street name!"

I laugh, then my expression turns serious. "This _is_ too good to be  
true."

"The thing is," Josh begins, kissing my forehead. "It is true. All  
of it."

I place my hand on the back of his head and bring his mouth to mine.  
We share a short kiss, then I wrap my arms around him. "I love you,  
I love you, I love you."

"There's one small catch," he says.

I look up at him and swallow hard.

"The house needs a little work."

Most women might be upset that their fiancé bought a fixer-upper  
without consulting them, but a smile crawls across my face, and I'm  
sure my eyes light up.

"I have a little experience with that sort of thing," I reply.

"I know." Josh's smile stretches from ear to ear. He takes my hand,  
and we walk toward baggage claim. "Let's go home."

And in that moment, I realize I'm exactly where I want to be. I  
can't imagine loving anything or anyone more than I love Josh Lyman.

THE END


End file.
